SONGS OF THE SKOKIE 

AND OTHER VERSE 



ANNE HIGGINSON SPICER 




Class 
Book 



£^ S7 



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COI"XRiGHT DEPOSIT. 



SONGS 
OF THE SKOKIE 

Slnd Other ^hse 

<S^nne 9£gginson Spicer 




<Puhlished h^ 
Ralph Fletcher Seymour 

SRne c^irts ^Building. Gkicago 






^^^^<^' 



Copyright 1917 

by 
ANNE HIGGINSON SPICEE 



NOV 24 ISI7 






©CI.A479259 



DEDICATION 

To the loving memory of the one person who would 
have read this little book uncritically, just because his 
daughter wrote it, 

Charles Maynard Higginson. 



Grateful acknowledgment is made to the Canadian Magazine 
for permission to re-print the poem, "In Joyous Garde," also 
to the Munsey Company for "The Night Tower-man," and to 
Good Housekeeping, Out West, the Montreal Mirror, Mon- 
treal Herald, The Ave Maria, The Outrider, Ajax, Boston 
Transcript, Springfield Republican, Chicago News, Post and 
Journal from whose pages various others are re-printed. 

Especial acknowledgment is made to the "Line o' Type" of 
the Chicago Tribune the kindly hospitality of whose "conductor" 
to nearly all the war verses, many of the garden and Skokie 
songs, and to various of the sonnets and exercises in rhythms 
has encouraged the writer to collect them in this volume. 

A. H. S. 



A PRAYER 

Dear Muse, a humble rhymester kneels 
Before thy sacred shrine 
Where through the centuries have knelt 
All votaries of thine. 

I ask no gift of serious verse, 
Of rhythms vast or deep. 
But let me write some lulling thing 
That sings a child to sleep. 

I ask no vellum-covered tome 
To hold the verse I write. 
But let me be the clipped out scrap 
That Mother reads at night, 

Or that be-fingered, laughed-at squib, 
Part tearful, part grotesque, 
Some tired-out man, with, "D'ye see this?" 
Takes from his office desk. 

Thou knowest I can never write 
Great odes to Mars and Thor. 
Muse, help me write some tiny song 
That Sammy takes to war ! 

August, igiy. 



CONTENTS 

Page 

A Prayer 5 

SONGS OF THE SKOKIE 13 

Song of an April Fool 15 

Morning Hymn to the Skokie 16 

Dawn 18 

Prairie Love 18 

The Ridge Road 19 

Storm Across the Skokie 21 

Jubilate 22 

WAR VERSES 23 

Hail and Farewell 25 

Hospital 25 

Overseas 26 

August , * . 27 

The Messenger 28 

"Filleul" 28 

Respite 30 

Song 30 

The Stars and Stripes Fly Over Westminster . . 31 

Song 32 

To a Laodicean 33 

Her Letter, with a Sweater 33 

The Croix de Guerre ^ . . 34 

REAL PEOPLE 37 

To Theodore Roosevelt 39 

To John Masefield 40 

7 



8 Contents 

Page 

Claude Debussy 41 

"Johnny" Hand 42 

In Memoriam — F. B. Sanborn 43 

"K. of K." 44 

Alan Seeger 45 

SONGS OF WORKADAY 47 

Comrade Life 49 

The Night Tower-man 49 

The Pipes of Pan 51 

Along the Northwestern. Villanelle 52 

Mothers All 53 

Contrast 54 

Metamorphosis 54 

At the Office 55 

Gabriel 57 

Dish-washing 57 

FOUR SONNETS OF MONTREAL 59 

Notre Dame de Bon Secours 61 

Notre Dame de Grace 62 

Notre Dame des Neiges 63 

Notre Dame de Montreal 64 

IN JOYOUS GARDE 65 

In Joyous Garde 67 

My Arcady 71 

Middle-March 72 

The Home-place 73 

Et in Arcadia Ego 74 

Unknown Birds 74 

In Praise of Pleasaunt Blossoms 76 

The Stay-at-Home 77 

Matins 78 

Simone 79 



Contents 9 

Page 

Iris Time 80 

Bee-have 81 

Two Gardens 82 

Red Lilies 83 

White Lilacs 83 

Michaelmas Daisies 84 

The Poplar Tree 85 

Wildings 85 

Calm May 86 

My Advocates 87 

The Painter Prays 87 

UNRELATED SONNETS 8g 

Garnets 91 

The Shopkeeper 92 

Westport Morning 93 

Cinematograph 94 

Shottery 95 

The Scales 96 

The Lamp 97 

Narcissus 98 

When That I Die 99 

Le Morte Darthur 100 

RAIN loi 

Rain I 103 

II 104 

III 105 

OVER SEAS 107 

Over Seas I 109 

II no 

III Ill 

IV 112 

V 113 



lo Contents 

Page 

DIM HAVENS 115 

Boats 117 

Port o' the Moon 118 

The Somnambulist 119 

Dirge 119 

Resurgam 120 

"Les Barricades Mysterieuses" 121 

Framework 123 

The Way 124 

AUTUMNAL INTERMEZZI 125 

Three Sonnets I 127 

II 128 

III 129 

TO MY LITTLE FRIENDSHIPS — 

Among Children, Dogs and Birds 131 

To Gloria 133 

Her Patteran 134 

To My Little Goddaughter 135 

Vain Imaginings 135 

Laissez-vivre 136 

Bathroom Rules 136 

A Boy's Studies 137 

Spring Comes to Montreal 138 

Now You Are Grown 139 

The Star 139 

The Lesser Martyrs 141 

"Sentimental Tommy" 143 

Prayer to St. Francis 144 

Baby Parade 144 

"Happy-go-lucky" 146 



Contents 1 1 

Page 

EXERCISES IN VARIED MEASURES .... 147 

Care — The Gnome 149 

When Primrose Smiles 149 

Spring in the Garden 150 

Four Merry Men 151 

The Japanese Goldfish Sauces the Statuary . . .152 

I Dream of Soft Verses 152 

Hill-Voices I53 

Sea- Longing i55 

Gathering Mallows I55 

Ballade of Youth and Love 156 

Upon Being Asked the Name of My Favorite Poetess 158 

The Elm-Tree Shades 158 

What of the Moon? I59 

The First Visit 160 

The Honeymoon 161 

Covent Garden Market 162 

Figure Dans Un Reve 164 

Recipe for a Play 165 

Song 165 

The Clown Sings 166 

Translation of Three Songs by Jacques Dalcroze : 

I 166 

II 167 

III 167 

To an Old Poet 168 

Song at Parting 168 

The Soul 169 



SONGS OF THE SKOKIE 

(The Skokie is the old Indian name for a 
marshy country lying parallel to Lake Michi- 
gan, back of the Ridge, north of the city of 
Chicago.) 



SONGS OF THE SKOKIE 

SONG OF AN APRIL FOOL 

Across the fields I laugh and run. 
I toss my heart up to the sun 
And catch it back in my two hands. 
All girdled round with golden bands 
It is, and chains of sunny beams 
That glitter like my childish dreams. 

And if the day is filled with mist, 
What care have I? Where e'er I list 
I run, and breathe soft depths of dew. 
And feel the soft damp soak me through 
Until my heart swells like a seed 
To burst to very bloom, indeed. 

There may be those who keep a state 
Of dignity, and walk sedate. 
Who do not laugh, and do not care 
To meet Young April debonnair 
And smiling, like some shepherd swain 
Who greets his love, or sun or rain. 

Poor fools. I'll let them go their way 
Unmindful of the April day. 
There must be something that they prize 
More than these rainbow April skies. 
They shall not daunt me as I run 
And toss my heart up to the sun. 

15 



1 6 Songs of the Skokie 

MORNING HYMN TO THE SKOKIE 

Bend rushes and wave grasses! 

After night's hushes the south wind passes, 

Waking the swallows and rousing the thrushes 

In leafy hollows. 

Out in the marshes sing, oh sing, 

Bird with the sunrise caught in your wing. 

"Okalee! Okalee! 

Night is retaken and day is set free ! 

Awaken, awaken, greet morning with me !" 

The blue swallows dip, flutter and dart. 

The dusk bees sip at the clover's heart. 

The hylas are trilling with wee throats a-quiver, 

Near a small hidden river, their heart-stirring lay. 

Meadow-larks carol from out of the willowy 

Copse where the grey reeds are bending in billowy 

Grace In obeisance, before the renaissance of day. 

Wake ! Wake ! Wake ! Raise your heads and show 

blue 
Azure-eyed grass of the meads, the sky's waiting for you 
To reflect in your soft silken deeps her ethereal hue. 
Iris In samite of purple befitting a queen. 
Summon the aid of your guardian lancers In green. 
Fend off that opal-winged dragon-fly, sapphire of sheen, 
Assailing with blue-mailed metals 
The veiling soft sheaves of your petals. 
Oh pale bind-weed clamber to look at your grace 
Where the grey pool turns amber, down, down to the 

base 



Songs of the Skokie I'j 

Where from darkness that barred her, Nymphaea 

upsprings 
To meet the sun's ardor and ope the green rings 
That so steadfastly guard her till the month comes for 

yielding 
Her gold-ingot treasure to the plundering pleasure 
Of picaroon lovers on gossamer wings 
Who rob in despite of her broad leaves' upshielding. 

A tanager flames in the hawthorn hedges, 

While safe from the harrow, along the marsh edges, 

A humble brown sparrow breathes first a soft prayer 

For the nest in the sedges, then flies in the air 

To alight on a low-bending stalk of the yarrow 

As he shouts out exultant ; "Away. Away care. 

Tears begone. Fears begone. Dread of the years 

begone. 
Forget frowning night. Worship the light. 
Light is good. Air is good. Life is good. God is 

good." 

Sing little optimist, sing ! Your message is plain ! 

Yours is no prophecy false, uttered for gain. 

Swell little heart with your mood, sing o'er the prairies 

your note, 
Earth's benedicite good, hymned by your pulsating 

throat. 
Grasses and flowers, far and nigh, sing from the thicket 

and sod. 
Marsh-meadow, prairie and sky, raise your hosannas to 

God. 



Songs of the Skokie 

DAWN 

The grass is opal-pearled. 

The stars are fading fast. 
Where the singing night-elves whirled 

A stillness broods at last. 
No bud is yet uncurled, 

Only the wind sighs past 
As the unawakened world 

Waits in a silence vast 
Till day's standard is unfurled 

At the dawn-trump's mighty blast 
Through the echoing ether hurled. 

PRAIRIE LOVE 

I tread the spreading, open ways, 

Through billowing meadow-grassy seas 

While Bob-o-Lincoln shouts his praise 
Of summer to the quickening breeze. 

The meadow-larks and blackbirds shed 
Their liquid notes like showers of tune. 

Blue swallows dart above my head 
As I step softly through the June. 

Let mighty poets chant their laud 
Of towering mount, majestic sea. 

My humble pipe trills praise to God 
Who gave this prairie-love to me. 



Songs of the Skokie 19 



THE RIDGE ROAD 



Spring along the Ridge Road! Hear the hylas trilling. 
Out across the Skokie a redwing calls the day. 
Velvet furrows black from the autumn tilling 
Show a gleam of chrysoprase, the wheat of early May. 
Hedge-rows thick with blossom-buds, sunny glitter 

falling 
All along the marshy pools where ice shone yesterweek. 
Voices from the woodland are calling, calling, 
"Come foot it on the Ridge Road. The spring plays 

hide-and-seek." 



II 

Summer on the Ridge Road. Noontide air all hazy; 
Filled with golden pollen-dust, scarce a breeze astir. 
All things dozing in the sun, calm, content and lazy. 
Save when strident locusts cut the silence with their 

whirr. 
Grasses ripen yellowly in the Skokie meadows. 
Poplars twinkle silver leaves, red field-lilies glow. 
Anxious birds instruct their young, hidden in the 

shadows, 
"Try your wings, for very soon we must southward go." 



20 Songs of the Skokie 

III 

Autumn on the Ridge Road. Chilly air a-shimmer. 
Branches bare and leafless against November skies. 
Smoke curls from the chimneys, friendly windows 

glimmer 
Offering warmth and welcome as the daylight dies. 
Glare-ice in the tracks, and the wagons homeward 

creaking. 
Haycocks heap where grass was green, shocks where 

fields of corn. 
Out across the Skokie a dismal crow is shrieking 
"Summer's left the Ridge Road. I'm lonely and 

forlorn." 



IV 

Winter on the Ridge Road. Icy winds are sweeping 
Over drifts of driven snow. Not a soul in sight. 
Stars up in the frozen sky their silent watch are keeping 
Like unfriendly sentinels who challenge night. 
Yet beneath its blanket white the Skokie's heart is 

yearning, 
Tiny hidden pulses throb to warn us of the spring. 
Ere we know the year has fled, the first blue-bird 

returning 
Sings of love and dawn and all sweet reawakening. 



Songs of the Skokie 2i 

STORM ACROSS THE SKOKIE 

The winds sweep o'er the meadow grass. 
It sways and writhes, a quivering sea, 
And one tall-growing willow-tree 
Dips like a ship to let them pass. 

The gulls flock inward from the lake. 
They soar and swoop to catch their prey 
Many a bird and fieldmouse grey 
Must perish those grim maws to slake. 

The cattle wander anxious-eyed. 
Or huddle near some thicket-patch. ' 
A horse untethered, shakes his thatch 
Of mane, and runs with nostrils wide. 

A jagged flash, a livid streak, 

A pattern of fantastic fire 

Across the clouds, and high and higher 

The notes of thunder roll and shriek. 

A crash and then torrential rain 
Bursts from the black and teeming sky, 
While from my spirit's misery 
Flows out and floods the ancient pain. 

Pain? — or a racial memory 
Of griefs and wars and sacrifice, 
Women who watched with anxious eyes 
And men who fought for liberty. 



22 Songs of the Skokie 

The crash, the tumult, then the rift 
Between the clouds. The tumults cease 
And sunlight breaks like smiling peace 
Across the land, and hearts uplift. 



JUBILATE 

Treading through the meadow grass 

Where blue swallows dart. 
Watching how the shadows fall 

Where the grey clouds rift. 
Happily my foot shall pass 

While singing goes my heart 
Beating to the red-wing's call 

O'er blossomy seas adrift. 

Where the blue-eyed grassy stars 

Stretch like tapestries, 
Where their sunbeam-threaded gold 

The dandelions weave,' 
When to bobolinkian bars 

My feet dance o'er the leas, 
Where's the heart could stay a-cold? 

Where's the heart could grieve? 



WAR VERSES 



WAR VERSES 

HAIL AND FAREWELL 

Dogs barking, dust a-whirling 
And drum throbs in the street. 

The braggart pipes are skirling 
An old tune wild and sweet. 

By fours the lads come trooping 

With heads erect and high, 
I watch with heart a-drooping 

To ee the kilties by. 

And one of them is glancing 

Up to this window, this ! 
His brave blue eyes are dancing; 

He tosses me a kiss. 

I send him back another 

I fling my hand out free. 
"God keep you safely, brother, 

Who go to die for me." 

Montreal, November, 1Q14. 

HOSPITAL 

Ah, not for him the winding road 
With pale white finger beckoning! 

Ah, not for him the wind-swept road 
That leads into the heart of spring! 

25 



26 Songs of the Skokie 

Four bleak white walls to close him in 

Are all he sees of life, and truth. 
Four walls, and shuddering deeps of pain 

Would shut him in from love and youth. 

But youth laughs down that winding road. 
Love with the wind comes singing free. 

Four walls ! You never shall shut out 
From heart of him this heart of me. 

January, 1915. 



OVERSEAS 

While Flanders' fields grow greener 

O'er faithful lads and true. 
To sit and knit at endless grey 

Seems a poor thing to do. 

Now France has had my lover 

Since April was a year. 
While I roll strips of linen 

And choke back many a tear. 

To march with drum and banner, 

To dig, to shoot, to kill — 
'Twould seem to me a Heaven 

To this Hell of sitting still. 

January, igi6. 



War Verses 



27 



AUGUST 1 9 14 

Happy In the August sun, all this pleasant day, 
Merry lads have leapt and run, shouting in their play. 
Brave-limbed in their manly fun, heedless, what care 

they 
For thousand lads whose games are done, young limbs 

turned to clay? 
Mothers bereft and grey. 

Now I hear the prattling noise of children overhead, 
Laughing, playing with their toys, on the road to bed, 
Let no sad thought cloud their joys, or vex one curly 

head 
For thousand other girls and boys now unfathered. 
Ah, God! The fathers dead ! 

Soon the loitering footsteps pass through the moonlit 

mist, 
'Tis a lover and his lass wandering where they list. 
Scarce a thought each young heart has of pale-lipped 

girls unkissed, 
Weeping mid the sullied grass, where War left his grist, 
When Death bid Love desist. 



28 Songs of the Skokie 



THE MESSENGER 

''There were days when the front was really quiet — 
once we heard an English skylark, and for a little while, 
it made the world beautiful again." — James Norman 
Hall in "Kitchener's Mob." 

Just for a day the clamorous uproar stilled. 
The shrapnel ceased to shriek, the smoke-drifts fled. 
The soldiers questioned how the fight had sped. 
Some yet undaunted, some with courage chilled 
At fear lest all for naught rich life was spilled. 
Some spoke slow grief for comrades who were dead, 
And some with dreaming eyes gazed overhead 
Toward the once-green fair land, now long untilled. 
Then from the field a skylark rose in flight 
Cleaving the air with ecstasy of sound. 
Battle-tired eyes with holier fires grew bright 
At winged remembrance of the English ground. 
And many a soldier whispered In his heart, 
"Hail thou blithe spirit. Bird thou never art!" 

March, igi6. 

"FILLEUL" 

He writes me that his mother's old, her eyes are dim; 
In all this world there's no one writes to him 
Except Marralne, nor any cares to send 
Those pleasant little packages that lend 



War Verses 29 

The comfort, warmth and ease, and help make glad 

The homesick heart of a poor soldier-lad. 

He used to feel more suffering. Now he 

Has dear Marraine to bear him company, 

The world seems not so very triste a place. 

Although, perhaps, he'll never see her face. 

He says: if dear Marraine 

Will give herself the pain 

To send the little pipe she writes of lately. 

And some tabac, why it will please him greatly. 

Also, although he hesitates to ask. 

Still nights fall cold, and frost is in the trenches. 

And he has patched, truly a tiresome task. 

Those flannels old, until now when he wrenches 

Them off, they fall in rags, -those garments old 

And worthless ! When his shoulders once get cold 

It mars the usefulness. Two suits would seem 

A gift from Heaven. Still he would not dream 

Of asking, but Marraine had said, "Take heed 

You tell me everything that you may need." 

He hopes Marraine enjoys la bonne sante. 

Next time he writes he will have more to say. 

Meantime he is "Votre soldat devoue 

A. Beaudry, Corporal. 
— ieme Territorial Compagnie Pionniers." 

October, igi6. 



30 Sonffs of the Skokie 

RESPITE 

Just for a moment, while the shells were bursting 
Just for a moment, through the yells and cursing 
Sleep, misty-veiled, sleep with star-gemmed garments 

Came hovering, flitting — 
Surely I smelled the perfume of the lilacs 
Heard again ring-doves crooning on the ridge-pole 
Surely I saw through the window of our cottage 

My mother knitting ! 

February i8th, igiy. 

SONG 

Sound of the beating drum ! 

Call of the fife and horn ! 

Gladly the answers come 

On every echo borne. 

Dawn of a larger morn ! 

Shouts of a glorious throng. 

From every state and town come the soldiers filing 

down, 
Singing a marching song. 

Far from the friendly town, 

Out on the hillside bare 

Tents of the khaki brown 

Stretch in the evening air, 

God! In a world so fair, 

Sweet in the springtide breath, 

Why must men engage to earn a bitter wage 

Treading the paths of death? 



War Verses 3 1 

Hark how the answer rings 

"Fight we at Freedom's word. 

Ours neither Czars nor Kings 

Liberty owns our sword. 

Down with the creed abhorred 

Whose watchword is tyranny 

We battle to make way for a braver brighter day 

And a true democracy. 

April loth, iQiy. 



THE STARS AND STRIPES FLY OVER 
WESTMINSTER 

April 2oth, 191 7 

Grey waters of the Thames, your shining sweeps 

Today shall bear a new reflection. See 

Where, with your English Cross, our Liberty 

Spreads its white Stars and Stripes, while in the deeps 

Of every patriot heart new freedom leaps. 

Forgot is all the ancient enmity 

Of Lexington, the more than century 

Of doubt. Today nation with nation weeps 

And swears to keep our faith, our swords from rust, 

Till we have raised the Lilies from the dust. 

And brought to bleeding Belgium hope and aid. 

Then, through the Seven Seas our flags unfurled 

Shall carry tidings to a wakened world. 

Our Stars, your Cross, in freedom's new crusade. 



32 Songs of the Skokie 

SONG 

(To be sung to the air of the Marseillaise) 

A voice is calling, calling overseas: 

"Come forth and right an ancient wrong. 

"Overthrow old tyrannies, 

"Swell the notes of Freedom's song. 

"Strike a blow for your arm is strong. 

"The sacred name of Liberty 

"Must be protected through the years, 

"The shame wrought by the enemy 

"Must be washed out with blood and tears." 

Chorus: 

America, arise ; your starry banner flies ; 
Redeem your word with cannon and with sword, 
And battle for the Lord. 

From east and west we hear the answer come 

In the sound of marching men. 

They respond to fife and drum, 

From every field and hill and glen 

The bugles are calling again : 

"Your fathers fought for Liberty, 

They bled that ye might all be free, 

And their true sons are ye; 

Come fight for Freedom, Law and Home." 

Chorus: 

America, arise ; your starry banner flies ; 
Redeem your word with cannon and with sword, 
And battle for the Lord. 

June ^rd, iQiy. 



JVar Verses 33 



TO A LAODICEAN 

Blow hot, blow cold ! Let conscientious doubt 
Creep its chill way, if that seem honesty! 
But do not let it blind you to this fact — 
Life is made up of "small observances." 
The touch of friendly hand when grief is deep, 
The smile, the tear, the sacred kiss of love. 
Are small observances, straws on the tide, 
Flickerings that hint of noble flame within. 

Stand up to greet your flag! Scorn not to show 
Your thanks to God who lets it shelter you. 
Dread neither symbols nor symbolic acts 
Which do embroider Life's dull tapestry 
Of earnest work with color, beauty, grace. 
God's gifts are flower, and song, and acts of Faith ! 

June nth, igij. 



HER LETTER, WITH A SWEATER 

Dear Lad, the military orders say 

That I may only knit for you in solemn grey. 

Yet, as my needles click, it almost seems 

I'm knitting more than wool. A coat of dreams 

I weave for you, compact of gleams and glory, 

Gayer than Joseph's, in the Bible story. 



34 Songs of the Shokie 

An azure thread (Invisible 'tis true) 

Slips in at thought of the dear eyes of you, 

And through the mist of memory is seen 

A happy glint of fresh and Maytime green 

For days we spent together, magic hours 

Of sunshine, laughter, and the smell of flowers. 



Now the grey wool seems brighter to behold 
Until it shines like skeins of burnished gold 
At thoughts of dear, kind, foolish things you said 
One evening, when the sunset burned its red 
And last of all, one thread of rosy hue. 
At thought of — have you guessed? — a kiss for you ! 

June, igry. 



THE CROIX DE GUERRE 

P. B. 

I hold the Croix de Guerre 
Where once I pressed his head 
With mother-love and care. 
I hold the Croix de Guerre 
And try to say a prayer 
But only moan, "He's dead." 
I hold the Croix de Guerre 
Where once I pressed his head. 



War Verses 35 

I hold the Croix de Guerre 
Against the sunset skies. 
I seem to vision where 
I hold the Croix de Guerre 
A Greater Cross, that bare 
A mother's sacrifice. 
I hold the Croix de Guerre 
Against the sunset skies. 



REAL PEOPLE 

SONNETS 



REAL PEOPLE 



TO THEODORE ROOSEVELT 

Long years a dweller in an alien land, 

I yearned with every fibre of my soul 

For this home-soil, these sacred States, the goal 

Of all my striving, vision through all I planned. 

Then fate (I said) was good, yet when I came 

My home seemed alien, and myself estranged. 

My native land's foundations shaken, changed — 

Her old-time valor but an empty name. 

Weak, purposeless, infirm, to me did seem 

What once was steadfast, freedom now spelled fear. 

Our sturdy principles turned vanes that veer 

Windblown, — forgot the Pilgrim's splendid dream. 

Now that I hear your voice, courageous, plain 

I know at last, I am at home again! 

October 28th, igi6. 



39 



40 Songs of the Skokie 



TO JOHN MASEFIELD 

You who have made the rhythms of the sea 
Beat through our hearts, though many leagues afar 
Its tossing crests and foam-swept boundaries are, 
What gift, oh Poet, can we bring to thee? 
When deep o'er Spanish Waters, magically 
Sounds chant of seaman 'neath the Southern Star, 
The melody, like some great Avatar, 
Transcends the din of street and factory ! 
When from your blue horizons you bring hence 
The heartening message that the Dauber taught — 
"It will go on" — or plead the immanence 
Of Everlasting Mercy, then my thought 
Makes bold my hand, till reverently it weaves 
One prairie star-flower 'mid your laurel-leaves. 

January SOth, igi6. 



Real People 41 



CLAUDE DEBUSSY 

Wrapped in a cloak of reticence he walks 

Unspeaking, but his harmonies give call 

Of whispering waters, deep bells passional, 

And silver flowers, twisted from glassy stalks, 

To tinkle into depths where reason balks 

At dank black pools, beneath a waterfall. 

While Melisande waits in the forest tall 

Till murderous treasons strike her soul like hawks. 

Man's strange unordered thoughts of everyday 

He sets to some vague crumbling melody. 

Fancies unsteered like shallops drift away 

To clouded isles, engirt with mystery. 

The music ceases — broken is the spell — 

A robin sings in the sun, and all is well. 

February 24th, igi6. 



42 Songs of the Skokie 



"JOHNNY" HAND* 

October 21st, 1916 

I mourn not only for thy silent bow, 

kindly old musician, but am fain 
To linger o'er old memories again, 

Of youth and roses, and the throb and flow 
Of waltz-tunes, danced to in the long ago. 
Old hopes and fears, and early joy and pain. 
These mingle somehow with the funeral strain, 
And give grief's blackness old joy's afterglow. 
And though it seems a foolish fancy, friend, 
Yet as my thoughts, my dreams, are yours today, 

1 hope when I, too, reach my journey's end. 
And Charon's ferry fee I needs must pay. 
Your welcoming music may so still my fears 
That "Danube," and not Styx, my spirit hears. 



♦"Johnny" Hand was a musician who played at the "coming-out" 
parties of Chicago girls for many years, and was much beloved. 



Real People 43 



IN MEMORIAM— F. B. SANBORN 

With the death of Mr. Sanborn ends the last link in 
the chain which bound the memory of present day 
America with the past which flowered in that unique and 
typically New England group of men, the Concord 
School of Philosophy. 

No more beside the peaceful Assabet, 
Nor in Old Concord's elm-arcaded street 
That tall familiar figure shall we greet. 
Somewhere with his companions gladly met 
He takes up broken threads of speech — and yet 
Those keen, kind eyes, with vision now complete 
Gaze hitherward with yearning for the sweet 
Old places that he never can forget. 

Swung in sad pride above the golden rim 
Of the great dome upon the Hill, appears 
The flag he loved floating half-mast for him; 
But finer tribute is the fall of tears 
In black men's eyes and prisoner's — grown dim 
At loss of their defender through the years. 

March 13th, IQIJ. 



44 Songs of the Skokie 



"K. of K." 

Drowned off north coast of Scotland June 7th, 1916 

You walked this earth in splendid reticence, 
Oh square-chinned warrior of the level eyes, 
Who dauntless gazed at each new enterprise. 
Planning, with faith untrammelled, courage tense, 
To give your country succor and defense. 
You feared no savage under desert skies. 
Nor dreaded nearer, fiercer panoplies 
Of the new foe! What now your recompense? 
Earth held no death for you ! No sculptured nave 
Frowns cold above you. Viking strains shall roll 
Where restless waters claimed your restless soul, 
And the lone sea-gull circles o'er your grave 
While old Valhalla's heroes shout, "Make room, 
For our new comrade, Kitchener of Khartoum." 



Real People 45 



ALAN SEEGER 

Soldier, you kept your rendezvous with death 

Bravely at that disputed barricade. 

Poet, you met the terror undismayed, 

Unconquered by the fear that conquereth. 

In the chill hour when all else vanisheth 

Your gleaming flower of courage did not fade. 

A singing warrior, valiant, unafraid. 

You cheered your comrades with your waning breath. 

The soul that claimed all earthly beauty knew 

That death thus met was part of beauty too, 

And though your path inevitably led 

Where laurelled vistas let the sunshine through. 

Yet future lads shall march with surer tread 

Because you did not fail your rendezvous. 

January 22nd, iQiy. 



SONGS OF WORKADAY 



SONGS OF WORKADAY 

COMRADE LIFE 

Life touched me on the shoulder 
While walking through the land, 
I met him with unshrinking gaze 
And — "Comrade, here's my hand." 

So march we on together 

And many a tale we tell, 

And should we part tomorrow, 

Then — "Comrade, fare you well." 

THE NIGHT TOWER-MAN 

Beneath my tower like flaming flowers 

The trackside beacons burn. 
I stand here through the evening hours 

And watch them change and turn 
When, answering to my quick-strained wrist. 
The polished levers forward twist. 

Each evening, be it shine or rain 

When I a switch unlock 
I dream that as each passing train 

Glides safely through the block, 
I am a sort of Providence 
Speeding the weary people hence, 

49 



50 Songs of the Skokie 

For yonder train of winding length 

Takes home the town-tired men 
Who came to market brains and strength 

Until the hour struck when 
Somewhere beyond the city's bound 
I send them home where sleep is sound. 

The ocean's nothing but a word 

To me, yet I can press 
Aside a barrier that deterred 

The Maritime Express, 
I like to think that, but for me. 
That train could never reach the sea. 

Sometimes folks question if I'm bored — 

"Get lonely here?" they ask. 
They don't dream how romance is stored 

For me, right in my task. 
Enthralled throughout the spell-set nights 
I press my levers, watch my lights. 

For every train that comes and goes 

I weave a glowing plot, 
And though the sequel no man knows, 

I do not care a jot. 
I snatch at least a passing look 
At pages from Life's Wonder-book. 



Songs of Workaday 51 



THE PIPES OF PAN 

Sometimes his eyes gazed far away 

As though he saw a wondrous place. 
It seemed as if some passing fay 

With lightsome wing had touched his face. 
His mother frowned, her instinct stirred 

At danger, as a mother's can. 
How could she know her baby heard 

The Pipes of Pan? 

Sometimes at school the master's look 

Would catch the young lad's upward glance 
As if across the printed book 

An elf did dance. 
Silent, enrapt, he stood at gaze 

While careless comrades laughed and ran. 
He heard across enchanted ways 

The Pipes of Pan, 

The years pass by, filled up with days 

Of poverty, and grief, and care. 
The smoke must dim enchanted ways. 

No elf may breathe the city air. 
The shrieking whistles of the mill 

To daily drudgery call the man. 
It matters not. He hears them still, — 

The Pipes of Pan. 



52 Songs of the Skokie 



ALONG THE NORTHWESTERN 



VILLANELLE 

Across the sunset skies they come 
•Along a bright enchanted way, 
Those flaming towers of Ilium. 

By day they leave the spirit numb. 
They have no power to charm by day, 
Across the sunset skies they come. 

The roofs of factories, gaunt and glum- 
Mere walls in serried outline they — 
Those flaming towers of Ilium. 

Filled with machinery's roar and hum. 
And stooping figures, grim, and grey, 
Across the sunset skies they come. 

Crowded with figures, joyless, dumb, 
Intent on drudgery and pay. 
Those flaming towers of Ilium. 

Would they arouse to fife and drum? 
Or fight for Liberty at bay? 
Across the sunset skies they come 
Those flaming towers of Ilium. 



Songs of JVorkaday c^-^ 

MOTHERS ALL 

Ye whom the deep love of man doth not turn to, 
Ye with no hearthside nor home that ye yearn to, 
Ye whom the high gods deny in the giving 
Right to bring forth human creatures to living, — 

Weep for awhile for the joys that ye share not, 
Weep for awhile for the babes that ye bear not, 
Weep, as ye must, for the small lips that cling not. 
Grieve for the lullabies your voices sing not. 

Then turn your hearts from your grief. Stay your 

weeping. 
Motherhood hid in your natures is sleeping. 
Let it awaken and take rightful place now. 
Loosen your heart strings, and mother the race now. 

Yours be the children of mine and of spindle. 
Children of homes where all sunshine must dwindle. 
Children whose lives grow to hates and abortion 
If they've no champion to fight for their portion. 

See where they play In the slum and the gutter. 
Hark to the plaint that their piteous lips utter. 
"How on the last day when all sins are shriven 
Will God judge stones which for bread have been 
given?" 1 

Then shall ye lift them and quiet their crying, 
Bring them to fields of bright flowers, with birds flying. 
Give them their birthright of love, warm and human. 
Ye all are mothers, so ye be but woman. 



54 Songs of the Skokie 

CONTRAST 

"Man's happiness is 'I will.' 
Woman's happiness is *He wills.' " 

— Nietzsche. 

Purposeful, stout of the arm, steady of eye, 
Man rives the rocks and hews the forests low, 

Cleaves mighty hills and halts the torrents' flow, 
Crying exultant: "Thus am I happy, I!" 

The woman follows him o'er vales and hills. 
Ready to comfort, cheer, or swell again 

His song of triumph with her softer strain, 
"This be my happiness since this he wills." 

METAMORPHOSIS 

He takes her hand, they seem to be 
Beneath a grey-rimed olive-tree 
Beside a gulf of lazuli 
In Italy — in Italy; 
But passers-by may only scan 
A dark-browed girl, a swarthy man. 
Who, in the soot-grimed sordid street 
For one brief moment, magic sweet. 
Pause hand-clasped in the drizzling rain 
To hear the old street-organ's strain 
Run hauntingly, tormentihgly, 
"Addio, Bella Napoli." 



Songs of Workaday 55 



AT THE OFFICE 

There are dozens just like her go passing you daily 
Setting forth in the morning with courage and will, 
To take up life's cudgels and brandish them gaily 

They tramp to the office down Beaver Hall Hill. 

*■ 

But there's one of them all who can set your heart beat- 
ing, 
You watch for a moment and give her a smile 
As she passes your office and nods you a greeting, 
You pause in your draughting and ponder awhile. 

You think of the world, and how bravely she'll face it. 
A brown study holds you quite closely, until 
You make a false line, sir, and have to erase it. 
And attend to your own work, on Beaver Hall Hill. 

Yet your office mates rightly would call you a dub, man, 
Unless your eyes followed her now, and again. 
Why even the boredest, most blase old clubman 
When she passes, presses his nose to the pane. 

How lightly she trips over pavement and cobble — 
A soldier might pale at the risks that she takes. 
As she crosses the road in her neat little hobble. 
You pray that the chauffeurs will look to their brakes. 



56 Songs of the Skokie 

They say at the office she's true to each task, sir, 
Obliging and capable, ready for work. 
She tries to accomplish whatever they ask, sir. 
She's willing and honest and never will shirk. 

When six o'clock conies and the day's work is over 
You tidy your desk and you take down your coat. 
And you wait at the door, an impatient young lover, 
Till she comes on her way to her lodgings remote. 

There's a very tired droop to that valiant young figure. 
As you see her safe home with devotion you thrill. 
And you vow when your pay-check is one number bigger 
She shall not have that long climb up Beaver Hall Hill. 

Montreal, igii. 



Songs of fVorkaday 57 



GABRIEL 

Out of the sordid street a woman came, 

Entered a doorway, climbed a creaking stair 

Gasping and weary, to an attic. There 

She clutched a moment at the bleak door's frame, 

Feeling her breath cut through her like a flame. 

Then turned she in that refuge, cheerless, bare, 

That she called home — a place of smitten air — 

And startled at a voice that spoke her name. 

Then as she waited, panting, hopeless, lo ! 

A tall white angel with a tender face 

Confronted her, held out a lily-blow — 

"Take this, my daughter, sent thee by God's grace." 

The woman flinched, and spoke with bitter breath, 

"Oh, is it you? I hoped it might be Death." 



DISH-WASHING 

Why dry them if you like, dear heart. You know 

I love to have you near me. 

The pretext doesn't matter. 

Still I hate to see you get 

Your hands all greasy. 

My own? 

Yes, they are not like what my mother used 

To call a lady's hands, well-kept and satin-smooth. 



58 Songs of the Skokie 

Sometimes I look at other women's hands 

So white! So tended! Tempting I should think 

To men — if I, a woman sometimes long 

To stroke them. 

Then I look at these poor hands of mine, 

Nails blunted, flesh burned rough. 

I can but think with some regret 

Of the rose-pink of youth, that long ago was theirs. 

I can remember they had dimples, too. 

Where now are wrinkles only. 

It was not vanity that made me prize 

Such beauty as I had. 

I had the more to give you — that was all. 

Now I can only serve you with these hands. 

They have been useful all these twenty years. 

These twenty busy, happy, anxious years 

We've spent together. 

No darling! Don't! The're soapy still and wet! 

Now you have made me cry. 

They are not hands, but swords of valiant service 

Your kiss the accolade that nobled them ! 



FOUR SONNETS 

OF 

MONTREAL 



FOUR SONNETS OF MONTREAL 



NOTRE DAME DE BON SECOURS 

Aloof thou standest In the market-place, 

Serene, remote, thou gazest toward the quays 

Where safe in port from grey and sullen seas 

The mighty liners crowd home from the race. 

Though there Is welcome In thy radiant face, 

Little of care or thankfulness have these 

Whose masts and stacks top thy slight spires with ease 

When, for their aid, thy aureole sheds grace. 

Had It but shone so bright In other days 

To guide the fragile barks of Jacques, or Pierre, 

Across the rapids turbulent, what praise 

Had been thy meed for that protecting care. 

Yet shine on. Lady of Good Help, thy rays 

Shall stir us yet to thankfulness and prayer. 



61 



62 Songs of the Skokie 



NOTRE DAME DE GRACE 

The grey old convent, midway of the fields 

Stands staunch through winter snow and summer rain. 

Harvest it knows, and seedtime come again. 

Ripe golden sweeps, and wheat-kerns earth-concealed. 

From that high turret gentle bells have pealed 

Over the prairies rich in autumn grain. 

Or through the wintry blasts have sung refrain 

Of hope to suppliants who praying kneeled. 

I bring my prayer, ere yet the harvesters 

Come from the reaping to their vesper song. 

Grant me good courage, I am full of fears, 

Comfort me Mother, for the months are long. 

Ere yet the wheat springs green, oh Mother Mild; 

Safe to thy altar help me bring my child. 



Four Sonnets of Montreal 63 



NOTRE DAME DES NEIGES 

The good priest asks: "Why must you always weep? 
Four are still left to play about your door." 
I cannot answer for my heart is sore 
For him who on the hillside lies asleep. 
When summer comes the hurt is not so deep, 
Through the green woods I wander with my four 
To pick anemones he loved of yore, 
And violets on his little shrine to heap. 

But oh ! Those winter nights when North wind blows ! 

My sorrowing eyes with bitter tears are blind 

Weeping for him beneath that hill of snows. 

I pray with breaking heart: "Oh, Mother Kind — 

Mother of little Jesus, hear my prayer, — 

Keep Thou my baby in Thy tender care 1" 



64 Songs of the Skokie 



NOTRE DAME DE MONTREAL 

Thy grey and warlike towers are sentinel 

Before the square where traders make their way 

From bank to bourse, from politics to play, 

Unmindful of thy hourly chiming bell. 

But when The Great Bourdon its requiem knell 

Peals forth in majesty on All Souls' Day 

Then careless worldlings cross themselves and pray. 

Remembering tales their fathers used to tell. 

For now the noble-hearted come again, 

Bringing thee loyal message from afar. 

Marquette and Maisonneuve, Cartier, Champlain, 

Frontenac, Roberval, LaSalle, Dollard, — 

Cry — "Keep thy soul with courage, Ville Marie. 

The living and the dead both fight for thee." 



IN JOYOUS GARDE 

"We were glad together in gladsome meads." 
The Rime of Joyous Garde. 

— Adam Lindsay Gordon. 



IN JOYOUS GARDE 



IN JOYOUS GARDE 

You have come back from all your wandering 

To find me as you left me, still at work, 
Grubbing among my bulbs (an earth-bound soul!) 

While you with winged feet like Ariel 
Have girdled all the world since last we met. 

Thrice welcome you, and should you not be glad 
That there are those who simply stay at home 

A-weaving welcomes for you wanderers ? 
You come with your enthusiams fresh; 

I'll share them with you gladly, if you like, 
But do not try to make me envious. 

Your happy eyes have seen the Parthenon 

Since last you stood beneath our prairie sky. 
And you have heard the Adriatic's call 

Fed with your very hand sweet Hilda's doves, 
And plucked the asphodel in Sicily! 

Well! I have heard our blue lake's friendly swish 
Upon the shore. The song-birds are my friends 

Who come with joyous twittering at my call. 
Then late in March I found hepaticas — 

But here's no Parthenon, I grant you that I 

67 



68 Songs of the Skokie 

You say no sound can ever greet your ear 

Like that bewildering old temple-bell 
There in an ancient grove near Tokio 

That boomed a melody you'll ne'er forget. 
You tell me how in the great Abbey's nave 

You heard a lad carolling high and higher 
Some old Te Deum, till your heart began 

To swell with rapture reverent, till it seemed 
As if you scarce could be alive, so sweet 

The sound, so great the scene. Ah! Yes, I know! 
Sometimes at early dawn I steal from bed. 

Open a door, and o'er the threshold step 
Into a world where everything's dew-washed. 

The air is silvery, pearl-like, luminous, 
So pure, so morning-pure, one is afraid 

To sully it with deed or word, or thought. 
One lonely star, perhaps, is lingering. 

It seems the very morning of the world 
And I the first to greet it — hush; what's that? 

A note — a cadence — quivering through the air, 
Rising crescendo In an ecstasy 

Of thanks to God and greeting to the day. 
A song-sparrow, His wee, brown chorister! 

You vow we have no artists here at home 

Who rank with the great masters or can vie 
With unassuming Orient artisans 

Whose daily tasks are truly miracles? 
Now tell me, was there ever Nippon bronze 

Or Eastern tapestry which can compare 
With yonder tracery of green and gold. 

Sunlight and shadow, on the velvet ground? 



In Joyous Garde 69 

And only look where, there against the sky, 

The cornel lifts its shapely pointed spires 
Of opening leaves, like tiny flames of green 

Raising Spring's incense to the God of Light! 
I cannot think those distant mystic shrines 
Of which you speak with wonder in your voice 
Could make my heart swell with more ecstasy 

Than does this smell of rain-washed earth in May. 
» 

I am a painter, too. My canvas spreads 

Only this little acre, in the sun, 
But with this earth-stained trowel that you see 

And bags of bulbs, queer roots, and tiny seeds 
I paint my growing picture, year by year. 

A "Spring-time" did your Botticelli paint, 
I know it well, and think of it each time 

I loose the earth about my primroses — 
See where they smile, a very flash of gold! 

All last October, when the early frost 
Had turned the sassafras from gentle green 

To a mosaic, flaming red and gold, 
I plodded on my hands and knees for hours. 

Digging and changing, humming as I worked, 
A little tune of very olden times. 

You know it, "Violets, like Juno's eyes" ! 
Now It is Spring, and blossoming in the shade 

Here is the song, writ out in purple notes — 
Puvis would call that colour good, I think. 

Which I, helped out, 'tis true, by rain and sun — 
Fashioned just here, a violet madrigal. 



^o Songs of the Skokie 

There where the pyrethrums are raising pink 

And cheerful faces to the sun, it seemed 
A bit too pink a spot, so t'other day 

I took my trowel and dug up that root 
Of pale forget-me-not, and planted it 

In front of all the pink. That night a shower 
Fell, and next morning you could never guess 

But Nature's brush those colours had combined 
So right they looked, so reasonably they grew; 

One helps the miracle where'er one can — 
But there are miracles one cannot touch! 

Not long ago, out in the April sun, 
I swear I saw Mertensia change the tint 

Of her pink buds into that wondrous blue 
She jangles bell-like in the frosty breeze. 

One might go round the world a hundred times 
And never catch that trick of hers again. 

I have not seen the marbles of the Greeks 

Except as we do get them, second best, 
But still I dare, with shears and pruning-knife. 

Attempt a certain sculpture ot my own ! 
I clip the shrubs to make a better bloom, 

To curb them shapely, and let in the light 
On humble blossoms growing at their feet. 

But, oh, I'm careful! And I watch to see 
How Nature does it, and I follow her 

So you would never think them touched, but say, 
"With what luxuriance, when let alone. 

These wild things grow, and spread. I like them so !" 



In Joyous Garde 71 

Perhaps some day I too shall travel far, 
Hearing and seeing all that man has done, 

Meanwhile I dig my garden, hum my song. 
Who will may come to see my garden grow, 

Smell the earth's incense, listen to the birds. 

Breathe the soft breath of peace which here exhales, 

And there's no man can make me envious. 



MY ARCADY 

While others prate of golden loves and poet's song, 
Of nightingales and turtle-doves and castles strong, 
I'll sing MY Arcady, a place of common things 
Where happiness could lend a grace to sparrows' wings. 
There heard, the robin's cheerful song could ne'er seem 

old. 
There never blew a wind so strong that I felt cold. 
Mere hollyhocks in blossoming grace vied with the rose. 
Each hearthside was a friendly place where hearts grew 

close. 

A stranger passing by that road unwittingly 
Might, since no sign nor beacon glowed, miss Arcady, 
'Twas just a something set apart, a rest from care, 
'Twas perhaps a feeling in the heart, a freer air. 
Bereft, I feel a bitter lack where'er I roam 
But living, working, I'll win back since Arcady spells 
Home. 



72 Songs of the Skokie 



MIDDLE-MARCH 

Wind of the south is it spring in the woodland 

Whence you have come with a message to me? 
Say have you news of the dear land, the good land, 

Thought's home and heart's home wherever I be? 
Down through the garden for which I am longing, 

(Tell me, oh south-wind, for you have been there,) 
Say, do the daffodil troopers come thronging? 

Do crocus sentinels challenge the air? 

Here in the city pent homesick I'm musing. 

Does the hepatica push through the leaves? 
Well I remember the fabric she's using. 

Sun-web and frost-woof the petals she weaves. 
Where the grey river-flood fed by the melting snows 

Sweeps on its angry way down to the sea. 
Does the old alder-tree shake out its golden bows, 

Greeting the spring-tide with banners flung free? 

Almost I feel spite of smoke-reek of factory, 

Clanging of bells and the din of the street, 
Magic of spring-time come surging refractory. 

Filling my heart with its rhythm full sweet. 
Here, even here the first grass-blade is springing. 

Dandelion circles are glinting with gold. 
Hear, yes I hear him, a robin is singing, 

"I'm here. The spring's here. Leap hearts and 
grow bold." 



In Joyous Garde 73 



THE HOME-PLACE 

And it's if I had my wish I'd be going 'far, far, 

To my own true country that is many miles away, 
I'd cross a mighty river and be following a star 
That's shining to south-westward where green moun- 
tains are. 
Till I came to my home village, and my house of grey. 

For it's there dwell all my friends, who will speak me 
kind, 
Or if I'm coming early, or if I'm coming late. 
Ah, it's how my thoughts fly thither in the homeward 

wind — 
Yes, my heart seems drifting with it till I seek and find 
My own, own home-place with its small green gate. 

And it's how my feet would hasten up a path that's 
there, 
Where the hollyhocks are growing, and the larkspurs 
blue. 
I would stop upon the threshold just to breathe a prayer 
Full of thankfulness to God for the sweet home air. 
Then I'd enter in the doorway and be finding you. 



74 Songs of the Skokie 

ET IN ARCADIA EGO 

I know a spot of beauty rare 

Where roses glow in splendor, 
Where lilies white beyond compare 

Grow tall and straight and slender. 

Where tropic plants with colors bright 
Beyond one's fondest dreaming 

Spring in profusion day and night 
In ricliest colors gleaming. 

Fruits such as in old Eden grew 

When this our Earth was younger 

In richest clusters meet the view 
But don't appease our hunger. 

For this rare spot of which I speak 

Which set me so agog 
Was in a book I saw last week 

Blank's Spring Seed Catalogue, 

UNKNOWN BIRDS, 

Sweet is the bobolink's song 

As he balances high on the grasses. 
The catbird trills all the day long 

Mocking each rival who passes. 
There's a twitter of joy and of cheer 

To be heard in the sparrow's grey flock, 
But the birds I am longing to hear 

Are the Phoenix, the Dodo, the Roc. 



In Joyous Garde 71; 

Fine is the grey eagle's flight, 

And the dip of the swallows at even, 
The sea-gull's my special delight 

When he circles 'twixt ocean and heaven. 
The wild geese spread out in a "V", 

Swift whirrs the frightened woodcock, 
But the birds whose flight I wish to see 

Are the Phoenix, the Dodo, the Roc. 

Red is the tanager's coat 

As he sings his low-murmuring matin. 
Brilliant the grosbeak's soft throat, 

And the oriole's vestments of satin. 
So gorgeous the cardinal is dressed 

That the quaker wrens get quite a shock, 
But gayer I'm sure than the rest 

Were the Phoenix, the Dodo, the Roc. 

Audubon, every bird's friend, 

Shall I find in the heavenly flock 
When my bird-hunting here's at an end. 

The Phoenix, the Dodo, the Roc? 



76 Songs of the Skokie 

IN PRAISE OF PLEASAUNT BLOSSOMS 

If I were planting a garden gay 

I would have Stockes and the Flower-de-luce 
Bordered by banks of Witch-hazel grey, 

Sentinelled by a purple Spruce. 
Gillyflowers, and the Columbine, 

Ladies-Smockes, with some Fenell near. 
There may be present day flowers as fine, 

Give me the blossoms of yester-year! 

No matter how small my garden plot. 

There should be bushes of Guelder-rose, 
Flanked at their feet by Forget-me-not, 

With Love-in-Idlenesse growing close. 
Fritillarias brought from France, 

Galligaskins to wee folk dear. 
Wind-flowers dipping their graceful dance 

Daintiest blossoms of yester-year. 

I would have beds of sweet-savored herb 

Burnet and Hyssop and Marjoram, 
Edged with Box in a close-cut curb. 

With a grassy path where my foot should come. 
Healing simples I'd plant in rows, 

Alecost, Tansy, and somewhere near 
Rosemary too, yes, I'd sow it close. 

To my pleasaunt blossoms of yester-year. 

Had I but known you, oh Parkinson ! 

How we'd have revelled, and bent our heads 
As we stopped to gaze over every one 

Of those pleasaunt plants in your garden-beds. 



In Joyous Garde ■ 77 

How they flourished In those old days 

Of your "Earthly Paradise" loved and dear, 

Xell — does Saint Peter still let you raise 
Those pleasaunt blossoms of yester-year? 

— Written after looking over an early edition of Park- 
inson's "Paradisi in sole paradisus Terrestris." 

THE STAY-AT-HOME 

No voices can call me to Candahar, 

Rangoon, nor the pink Arabian sea. 

The magical syllables, Malabar, 

Sing no Lorelei song to me. 

Why should I long for an Arden tree? 

Carcassonne never was one of my aims. 

I have my own little Arcady — 

The flowers in my garden have lovely names. 

Others may journey to Miramar, 

Samoa, Ispahan, Muscovy. 

I find it pleasanter here by far. 

Where primulas grow, and anemone, 

Fennel, angelica, rosemary, 

Bergamot (burning like scarlet flames). 

Pale veronica (sought by the bee) — 

The flowers of my garden have lovely names. 

For I was born 'neath a gardening star 
When the daffodils danced in their April glee. 
Maple trees blazed like the cinnabar 
While I studied my flowery a-b-c. 



78 Songs of the Skokie 

"A is Armeria, Balsam Is B" — 
I learned from old Nature, the best of dames — 
Down to "V is Valerian, Zinnia, Z" — 
The flowers in my garden have lovely names. 

So voyage, oh reader, whoever you be, 

From far Lochaber to Calgary, 

This stay-at-home person won't join your games — 

The flowers in her garden have lovely names. 



MATINS 

(Sonnetina) 

Come out into our garden-close; 
Look, while I hold the curtain drawn. 
How new-born daisies on the lawn 
Reflect the sunrise lingering rose. 
See, while your dreamy senses doze, 
The last pale moonflower's almost gone. 
The morning-glory blew at dawn 
Her trump, to summon slumber's foes. 

Lift up, dear heart, that sleepy brow. 
Here's a new day that God has given. 
All Nature waits to show us how 
Old faults may be dew-washed, and shriven. 
Could they but see our garden now. 
Even infidels would dream of Heaven. 



In Joyous Garde 79 



SIMONE 

(After the French of Remy de Gourmont. Not an 
exact translation) 

Simone, the sunshine laughs through leaves of cherry, 
Young April has come back to make us merry, 
Upon his shoulder bringing trays of flowers. 
Pale violets, and whitethorn for our bowers. 

He sows through meadow-fields, and through the 

grasses, 
On banks of brooks, ponds, ditches, as he passes, 
He borders streams with daffodils, has strewed 
Anemones through woodland solitude. 

The valley-lily's for the hidden dell. 
For open spots the golden primrose-bell. 
And Easter daisies smile throughout the mead 
In open spaces where the first bees feed. 

Simone — and in this garden sweet — of ours. 
He'll soon bring columbines and gillyflowers. 
Sweet-smelling hyacinths and iris too. 
And velvet pansies, all, Simone, for you! 



8o Songs of the Skokie 

IRIS TIME 

It's Iris time! It's Iris time! 'Twixt tulip-days and 

rose, 
The garden walk in iris time with purple splendor glows. 
The leafy spears are on parade, the bugles of the June 
Summon each bud and bloom and blade with sturdy 

marching tune. 

Although my garden's humble earth stands for democ- 
racy. 

The simple flowers of peasant birth make way for 
royalty. 

For "King of Iris" golden-crowned — and tall and pink 
and gay — 

"Her Majesty" comes, rosy-gowned (or is it "Queen 
of May?"). 

"Maori Kings" and "Gypsy Queens" are handsome, 

proud and tanned. 
Next comes a troop of "Florentines," the tallest in the 

land. 
"Penelope's" a lovely whirl of blue and gold and white, 
"Madame Chereau" with fringe and curl, is French, 

and charming quite. 

In red and gold old "Honorabile" stands proud, pre- 
senting arms, 

"Dalmatica" deep pride must feel in her rich purple 
charms. 

"Pallida" wears a paler hue, of course "Canary's" 
yellow. 

"Alvarez" carries royal blue, "John Bull's" a stout old 
fellow. 



In J oyous Garde o^ 

The 'Quaker Lady" mauve and grey, hangs down her 

peaceful head, 
"Charles Dickens" turns to violet gay, since he is never 

red. 
"Aurea's" Gold, so's "Souvenir" though streaked with 

veins of dark, 
(For memory is sometimes drear, and sorrow leaves a 

mark) . 

"Rhein Nixe" and the "Lorelei" (say, must we change 

their nation?) 
"Celeste's" soft blue is like the sky, "Neglccta's" poor 

in station. 
But she has champions to fear, "Hector" the fine, the 

splendid. 
And "Agamemnon" guards the rear, with him the list 

is ended. 

The Earth is sweet in iris time, fresh green, and birds 

a-twitter. 
Young love that hums its budding rhyme, and beams of 

sunny glitter 
(And yet what heart can beat carefree while trampled 

on and bleeding 
The proud pale blooms of Fleur de Lis are crushed by 
feet unheeding?). 

BEE-HAVE ! 

Bumble-bee, bumble-bee, can't you be humble, bee? 

Blundering Don Juan of the larkspur and daisy. 
Pride will but stumble, bee. Best not to grumble, bee. 

All of the garden flowers think you half crazy. 



82 Songs of the Skokie 

Bumble-bee, bumble-bee, how you do rumble, bee. 

Thundering notes like a deep-booming 'cello. 
Hear the flowers mumble, bee, "Isn't that bumble-bee 

Growing to be just a bothering old fellow?" 

Bumble-bee, bumble-bee, awkward old fumble bee. 

Plundering pollen and honey-deep riches — 
Better be humble, bee. Life's but a jumble, bee — 

Character counts more than black and gold breeches. 



TWO GARDENS 

Oh, Mrs. Midas' garden stretches flowery acres wide. 
Its shaded paths, its bloom-filled beds, they are her 

gardener's pride 
And people boast about it throughout the countryside. 

Now Mrs. Leary's garden grows on the fire-escape. 
One gaudy red geranium, some herbs of thwarted shape, 
And some morning-glories straggling, set in old tins half 
agape. 

Oh Mrs. Midas never sees her flowery treasures gay. 
She doesn't care much for them, and besides, she is 

away. 
But Mrs. Leary cares for hers with tenderness each day. 

So if I like Mrs. Leary's garden better, is it odd? 

For Mrs. Midas' garden is but flowers, and trees, and 

sod. 
But Mrs. Leary's garden is a prayer straight up to God. 



In Joyous Garde 83 

RED LILIES 

"Those tall red lilies in that bed 
"Must be cut back," my darling said, 
"Too fast they grow, too wide they spread." 
Yet they grow on, and he Is dead. 

Ah, how it mocks 

My paradox. 

Those lilies red crowd out the phlox 

And straggle through the hedge of box. 

Proud lilies, take what spot ye seek. 
I need no fragile flowers, nor meek. 
Your strength upholds when I am weak. 
Somehow, through you, I hear him speak. 

WHITE LILACS 

A hurried step — a quick call in the night — 

An open door with a pale rift of light — 

Then — "He Is gone," they said. 

I looked upon you dead. 

And all that life had been was over, and I felt 

Even as I praying knelt, 

That prayer was useless, and the world was bare 

Of what had made It fair. 

Then as I knelt, with heart too wrung for weeping, 
The stealthy dawn came creeping. 
I rose, and silent stepped 



84 Songs of the Skokie 

Out in the dew where the still garden slept, 

Where near the house, in panicled perfume. 

White lilacs were in bloom, 

I pulled some sprays and brought them to your room. 

The lonely years have fled, 

Some lagging, some fast-sped. 

Since that day-dawn when you I love lay dead. 

Yet I may never see white lilacs in their grace. 

But that I feel 

The cold dawn creeping steal. 

And see that still and unfamiliar face. 



MICHAELMAS DAISIES 

Like stars the blossoms one by one 
Burst through a cloud of leafy grey, 
Until beneath September's sun 
There bloomed a flowery Milky Way 
In honor of Saint Michael's day. 



In Joyous Garde 85 

THE POPLAR TREE 

Standeth a white poplar tree 

In my garden close 
Shaketh out like banners free 

Its leaves of silver gleams 
Proud it spreadeth while the sun 

Reigns in gold and rose, 
• But when that the day is done 

When the pale moon beams, 
Then a thing of mystery 

Portentous and strange 
Groweth the white poplar tree 

Whispereth a tale 
All of hopeless loves long dead 

Of misery and change, 
And houses long untenanted 

Where ghosts walk pale. 

WILDINGS 

Anemones and dog-tooth violets ! 

I bent above their delicate green shoots 

And dug the clean pale lovely springtime roots 

To plant among my well-loved garden-pets. 

Praise, if you will, larkspurs and mignonettes 
Insistent peonies, and those flaunting brutes 
The hollyhocks ! My garden lyre-string mutes 

To hymn the springtide bloom summer forgets. 



86 Songs of the Skokie 

Timid claytonia in woodland shade, 

The waxen bloodroot in the deep ravine. 

Hepaticas in downy sheaves displayed, 

The brave marsh-marigold with golden sheen. 

Praise your white lilies, chant your rose in bloom, 

But give my gentle wildings garden-room. 



CALM MAY 

The fronds of fern uncurl in leafy places. 
The mystic mandrake 'neath its emerald sheaf 
Unfolds its waxen petals leaf on leaf. 

And spring steps forth with calmer-measured paces 

Than when wild April led her bounding feet 

A-dance through wood and meadow, scattering white 
The silken-petalled blossoms in delight. 

And chanting magic o'er the sprouting wheat. 

In this new Earth, revivified and greener 

Hope grows assured, passion-wrought fears are 

stilled. 
Old years renew, while youth grows ardor-thrilled, 

And storm-tossed middle years breathe deep of air 
serener. 

Since resurrection thus we yearly see, 

Why need the spirit dread death's mystery? 



In Joyous Garde 87 

MY ADVOCATES 

When my soul slips from this its chrysalis 

And turns, half-timid, half-aspiring, where 

There stands beside the Heaven's opening stair 

The angel with the scales, whose duty is 

Through all the rolling ages, only this — 

To weigh and test the myriads summoned there, 

Choosing the souls who chose to seek and dare 

From those who win oblivion's abyss. 

Perhaps when the computer at the gate 

Says: " 'Tis a puny soul and lacking weight 

For God's designs" — then those I thought long perished 

Will fling into the balance all their sweetness — 

To countervail my weakness, incompleteness — 

The little souls of all the flowers I cherished. 

THE PAINTER PRAYS 

Give me the grace to see life vividly. 

Not through a dimming haze of discontent, 

But all the shining colors newly blent 

Fresh from God's hand — as the first man might see 

In Eden-days, a world of purity 

Dew washed and tinted with hues Heaven sent 

Sifted through mystery the sunbeams lent. 

To rouse man's brutish thoughts to Deity. 

Thus seeing, knowing, then I'll take my brush; 

With reverent care I'll dip the paint, and then 

Try to portray amid the gentle hush 

Of dawn, a world daily remade for men. 

Thus shall my picture worthily live on 

To gladden when this hand and brush are gone. _ 



UNRELATED SONNETS 



UNRELATED SONNETS 

GARNETS 

TO MY FATHER 

We sat together on the golden sands 
Watching the beryl waters change to grey 
Beneath the wind-blown clouds. In happy play 
We dug the shifting shingle with our hands 
And let the finer grains sift through like strands 
Of chain unfettered. Now and then a ray 
Of crimson through the yellow glittered gay. 
You told me how the garnet rock withstands 
The miner's hammer, but the pounding lake 
Beats on its crystals till they tear and break, 
Yet every fragment keeps its ruby glow. 
(Ah, how the waves of time my life have rent. 
Yet those sweet childish moments with you spent 
Gleam roseate from the happy long ago!) 



91 



92 Songs of the Skokie 



THE SHOPKEEPER 

You are a traveler from some far city, 

Who, wandering in this unimportant place 

At loss for interest, to my small shop trace 

Your steps, and laughing ask — "What's new and 

pretty?" 
I spread my wares. You hum a careless ditty, 
Chat with me for a casual moment's grace 
As eagerly I rifle shelf and case 
To show my all. You gaze, half-smiles, half-pity, 
Then shrugging, "Not today," you turn and leave me. 
"Another time, perhaps." You wander on 
Not dreaming how your quick appraisements grieve me. 
I put my wares away, all comfort gone 
And all my heart is one dull ache of pain. 
I think I shall not show my wares again. 



Unrelated Sonnets 93 



WESTPORT MORNING 

The cobwebs tremble sparkling in the grass, 

A goldfinch loops his song along the air, 

The shadows stretch long fingers everywhere 

Pointing from seaward, whence the cloud wracks pass. 

Beyond the bar the emerald waters scream 

On Half-Mile Rock, and rend themselves in spray. 

The laughing gulls derisive greet the day 

And plume their satin feathers till they gleam. 

The sinister black night has left the shore. 

The lichened rocks bask listening to the bar, 

A lonely bell-buoy clangs from very far 

A tale of seamen who will sail no more. 

But we? Oh, we will live and shout and run, 

Breathe the salt air, and laugh under the sun. 



94 Songs of the Skokie 



CINEMATOGRAPH 

In pictured pomp across the canvas white 

The silent pageant moves, living and clear; 

Cordelia and her sisters, Kingly Lear, 

Borne on a beam of silver through the night. 

And all dream fabric ! Mystic, recondite ! 

I gaze with wondering, and half with fear. 

Surely, although no agent hands appear, 

'Tis some great Merlin who controls that light. 

So with your drama, Shakespeare. Each man knows 

The wondrous incandescent figures cast 

On Art's white canvas, where your genius throws 

Those stirring images from out the past. 

While you whose hand controlled the magic spark 

That lit that beauty, still hide in the dark. 



Unrelated Sonnets 95 



SHOTTERY 

The tall blue larkspurs at the garden gate 
Peer up the winding road and o'er the hill, 
Whither from Stratford trudges Poet Will, 
Revolving starry verses in his pate. 
Within the cottage there is one doth wait, 
Whose heart-beats through his early metres thrill. 
She opes the lattice, leans out from the sill. 
The sweetheart Anne, demure, and yet elate. 

The noisy motors whirr. The people crowd. 

I rub my eyes. Is the blur dust or tears? 

I see the cottage home all desecrate 

By chattering pilgrims flocking, wondering loud. 

The golden sunrays of three hundred years 

Have tinged the larkspurs blue at that old gate. 



g6 Songs of the Skokie 



THE SCALES 

I walked, methought, a wood of dimlit green 

Where stood an angel holding scales of gold, 

Who said : "A merchant am I. Have bought and sold 

Full many a ware, since every soul I ween 

Has something wished for, something hid unseen 

That he would part with ere the days grow old. 

Come you. I'll buy. With gold dreams manifold 

I'll pay — come sell what bars from life serene." 

Then took I my capacity for grief. 

That burden on the golden scales I laid 

Yet my surcharged heart felt no relief, 

And even-hung the golden balance stayed. 

"On the other disc — " the angel merchant smiled — 

"You careless laid your power for joy, my child." 



Unrelated Sonnets oy 



THE LAMP 

In sun-swept India, in the Taj Mahal — 

Vision of fretted marble intricate — 

There hangs, so home-come travellers relate 

When all that orient beauty they recall, 

Forever hanging mid the sacred wall 

A dim sweet lamp to true love consecrate — 

Shining memorial within the gate 

Of loveliness sleeping beneath her pall. 

Deep in the secret temple of my soul 

A lamp is burning, all a topaz gleam. 

Tended and trimmed, in that dim hidden goal, 

Commemorate to the lovely power of dream 

You woke within my life, like April's breath 

O'er sleeping buds, — a dream of life, not death ! 



98 Sottas of the Skokie 



NARCISSUS 

I wandered to my sacred garden nook 

And there I found new-blooming at my feet 

A white narcissus, golden crowned and sweet, 

Challenging shyly till I bent and took 

The slender blossom in my hand, to look 

And ponder on its loveliness complete. 

Dreaming of some old tale, half-obsolete. 

Read in my childhood from a Latin book, 

Then a voice whispered: "Perhaps the thing you love 

Is not the man, but your own dream of him. 

Thus do you like to young Narcissus prove. 

Who pined above his image mirrored dim!" 

I answered : "If such beauty fill my dreams 

It proves me worthier of the man he seems." 



Unrelated Sonnets 99 



WHEN THAT I DIE 

When that I die no child of this warm heart 

Shall through his pulses carry on my name. 

When that I die and pay brown Earth her claim 

No picture from my brush, no sculptured art, 

Nor song of mine shall make sweet memories start. 

Yet when I close the book, have played the game. 

Though none may praise, please God that none may 

blame, 
I skipped no page, I played my humble part. 

Could I bequeath my life's capacity 

For joy, without the pangs that gave it birth, 

Could I bequeath to those who follow me 

My dumb sense of the beauty of this earth 

As part of man's great tribal memory. 

Then I would know my life had been of worth. 



100 Songs of the Skokie 



LE MORTE DARTHUR 

"The world is waste," I said. "And comfortless. 

"Hatred and war have broken all the spell 

"Of magicry, and tolled the solemn knell 

"Of Faerie, and tales of courtliness." 

Then Malory, in its worn leather dress 

I took your volume from its dusty shelf, 

And, opening its pages, lost myself 

In the quaint spell of ancient Lyonesse. 

Morgan le Fay, Arthur, and Lancelot — 

Tristram and Beale Isoud — Palomides — 

The well-remembered names have lost no jot 

Of their enchantments and their witcheries. 

For one sweet hour all present griefs were barred. 

I breathed the glamourie of Joyous Garde. 



RAIN 

SONNETS IN THREE MOODS 



RAIN 

SONNETS IN THREE MOODS 



The rain taps happy rhythms on my roof. 
Close-sheltered, I sit lazily a-trying 
To weave a memory of blue-bells, plying 
A floss-hung needle through a silken woof. 
The busy household hums. — I stay aloof 
Harkening the rain, and listening to the flying 
March winds through yet unbudded trees a-sighing 
In eerie notes, like some low-moaned reproof. 
Alas, what right have I to warmth and shelter 
And silken comfort, when the rain is falling? 
While you amid the carnage and the welter 
Must daily face war's countenance appalling? 
And yet I dream I see you smile again 
Thinking of me, safe sheltered from the rain ! 



103 



104 Sottas of the Skokie 



II 

I walked for hours today through windy mist 

And rain, in copse, ravine, and fairy dingle, 

Searching with eager eyes and blood a-tingle 

For that frost-woven star of amethyst 

We call hepatica. — The spring had kissed 

Some twenty into bloom. — Now by the ingle 

Where fading day and flickering firelight mingle 

In homely comfort I am keeping tryst. 

My flowery treasures in the blue-glazed chalice 

We bought together, you remember when? 

Are gathered in a delicate display. 

Yet through my dream there creeps with cruel malice 

A sorry thought of you and all your men — 

I wonder if it rained in France today! 



Rain 105 



III 

All the day long the gaunt grey rain has dripped 

Monotonous, one long disturbing note 

Upon the roof, and on my heart it smote 

Like spattering lead on flesh some wound had stripped 

Of all protection. With my thoughts tight-gripped, 

As drowning sailors frantic clutch a boat. 

So I in memories perilously afloat 

Have reached and clung, by stinging torment whipped. 

For oh, last night I dreamt of some far place 

Where with a throng I waited till you came. 

You looked at me with unremembering face, 

You had forgotten, did not speak my name. 

And now, awake, I still can feel the pain, — 

And all these long, long hours, the rain, — the rain. 



OVERSEAS 

FIVE SONNETS 



OVERSEAS 



FIVE SONNETS 



Throughout my garden sound the happy cries 
Of mother birds encouraging their young. 
In nearby woods a questing dog gives tongue 
Half-heartedly, the while his quarry flies 
Out from the thicket to the free-winged skies, 
While on the breeze's odorous breath outflung 
The purple pennons of the phlox are hung 
To lure the golden-pinioned butterflies. 
All Nature seems with kindliness asmile. 
The slow white clouds drift still above my head, 
The shrill cicada's drone is quiet, — then 
The soft peace shatters in a moment, while 
I shudder at the thought of war-crazed men. 
And you perhaps in the grim trenches, dead! 



109 



no Songs of the Skokie 



II 

You do not know, dear love, how all the day 
You have been with me 'neath October's blue 
And gold. We walked the rustling pathway through 
The meadow, still sweet-scented from the hay. 
While furtive azure gentians watching lay 
Shy-eyed, half-hidden where the deep grass grew, 
And you have talked to me and I to you 
Answered, all tender things I wished to say. 
And now I sit beside the birchwood fire. 
Knowing my happiness was but a play 
Of fancy, fed by longing and desire. 
For you are near a hemisphere away. 
Yet God may grant this very night I too 
May keep some distant vigil, love, with you. 



Overseas 1 1 1 



III 



Could I be sure that we have dreams for tryst, 
Who am bereft of tender memories, 
Then might my sorrow win a Httle ease. 
The mills of suffering give no kindly grist 
Out of the past, of moments rapture-kissed, 
Nor gentle lover's talk like melodies, 
Nor any of the haunting ecstasies 
Of youthful dreams, rose-hued and amethyst. 
Not even dreams ! And yet sometimes when I 
Rise at day-dawn and gaze out through the keen 
Fresh glimmer of the coming of the morn. 
You seem beside me, tangent though unseen, — 
Air is all vibrance with your voice, — ah why 
If love is all for naught, must it be born? 



112 Songs of the Skokie 



IV 



Last night we gathered round the open fire. 
Fierce winds without went wailing, but within 
A girl with an enchanted violin 
Challenged the gale at music's wild desire ! 
When winds and strings alike had ceased to quire 
Friendship's communing spirit entered in. 
We spoke of all great arts to music kin 
And how great words high harmonies inspire. 

Then someone reverently spoke your name 
Praising the living mystery of your art, 
And all my being bloomed into a flame 
And fiery roses blossomed in my heart, — 
But I who knew you, loved you, only heard 
Dumb — powerless to praise you with a word. 



Overseas 1 1 3 



Not that you ever loved me, but because 

You so loved her, I came to know at length 

What love could mean in all Its nobler strength. 

Ah, did you dream that you were making laws 

For love's high conduct ? Or that one short pause 

On your life's journey touched this life of mine 

Like spark to unlit tinder, — like divine 

Flame that consumes all earthly faults and flaws? 

Yes ! You have set me standards that control 

Like rhythms of splendid music, through the days, 

My aspirations, hopes in open ways, 

My secret doubts, and all my heart's dim hollows, — 

Through life, through death, and heaven or hell that 

follows — 
The throbbing time-beats of my marching soul. 



DIM HAVENS 



DIM HAVENS 



BOATS 

I launch my tiny boats of song, 

I watch them drift away 

Like flower-petals scattered by the breeze 

On the blue sparkling water. 

I put my dreams into small boats of words. 

The cargoes are of fragile stuff, my friends. 

Some must make quick havens. 

If they voyage far 

The hold will be found empty — 

What was there 

Will long have vanished into the salt wind. 

And yet, perhaps, 

Some few of these small boats 

May journey very far 

And bring their little cargoes home to port 

In safety. 

Who knows but one — 

The one I'm launching now 

May reach you, you afar. 

In that dim haven I may never reach. 

117 



ii8 Songs of the Skokie 



PORT O' THE MOON 

Down the still ways my boat of thought adrift, 

Slips from its moorings through a misty light — 

Nebulous, elfin, like some floating rift 

That Dian tears in fabric of the night. 

Ripples of magic lap the shallop's side. 

Wavelets of that great sea so deeply fraught 

With wondercurrents, surging from the wide 

Fathomless ocean of eternal thought. 

White, white, the moonpath through that mighty sea, 

On, on the current bears me to the croon 

Of one long ceaseless low sea-melody 

Toward my far-distant harbor, Port o' the Moon. 

What shall I find when the far haven's won? 

Old dreams made new? Or things outside my dreams? 

Shall I but drift, the wonder never done. 

Never attaining where that beacon gleams? 

What does it matter since the sea is wide 

And magical, bearing its argosies 

Of mighty galleons that stem the tide 

Bound for Atlantis or the Pleiades. 

Even these so free, so proud, with outspread sail 

May never make their harbors, late or soon. 

Need I then murmur if my frail barque fail 

To reach the glimmering beacon, Port o' the Moon? 



Dim Havens 119 

THE SOMNAMBULIST 

Along the ways of men, with look unseeing 
Though open-eyed, she walks, but never hears 

Like secret bells within her inmost being 

The ceaseless call of unaccomplished years; 
Nor ever lingers 
To dip her fingers 

In Life's deep pool of soul-awakening tears. 

Plaint stirs her not, and threat is unavailing, 
Her soul drifts on, unballasted by fears, 

Like some dim ship too far away for hailing; 

The joy, the passion of her life's compeers 
Cannot awaken. 
With heart unshaken 

She greets their pleading with unheeding ears. 

She smiles a gentle smile of unperforming, 
For her no duty drives, no passion sears. 

No charity can stir her heart to warming — 

Unvigilant.the dangerous gulf she nears, 
Will she rouse never? 
But dreaming ever. 

Fare, unaware, into strange other spheres? 

DIRGE 

Tread light, step soft, stir not a leaf. 
Dig but a little space 
Under the loam, for my last home 
In some dim forest place. 



I20 Songs of the Skokie 

Beneath the mosses and the deep 
Green shade the branches weave, 
Lay me away at break of day 
And linger not to grieve. 

But sing that little foolish song 
You sang when life was new, 
Before the hour when all the flower 
Of love had lost its dew. 

And I shall lie in splendid sleep. 
And smile beneath the dew. 
I'll change old grief to flower and leaf, 
And bloom again for you. 

RESURGAM 
To my father 

If they are right who claim that after Death, 
To Nature's humbler types we shall return, 

I only ask that the same spring-tide's breath 
May find us side by side, as flower or fern. 

If they are right whose more ambitious way 
Claims that to higher types we upward trend. 

Oh wait for me, who hampered by this clay 
Fear that too far beyond you may ascend. 

Yet these philosophies can never sweep 

From out my thoughts those childlike hopes of fair 
Green meadows where you wait, your eyes all deep 

With longing, unfulfilled, till I am there. 



Dim Havens 121 

"LES BARRICADES MYSTERIEUSES" 

(Written after hearing the Chicago Orchestra play the 
piece of music by this name) 

Everywhere barriers, barriers for me. 
No path is free. 

Sometimes I wander for long 
Through alleys of sunshine and song, 
Till the chords of my heart chime a hymn 
Exultant and loud. 

When through the bright air floats a dim 
Nebulous cloud 
That deepens and darkens 
Till my waiting soul barkens 

To voices of warning that cry "Come no nearer, this 
pathway is barred." 

Everywhere barriers, barriers touch me, 
Reaching hands clutch me. 

No longer treading through sunny green alleys 

With spirit unshrinking and vision unclouded. 

But searching black valleys through great mists of 

dreading 
My soul's eyes go blinking, in terror enshrouded. 

I stare through the air. What is it I fear? 
All seems splendid and clear. 
(A nameless 
Unfathomable terror, 



122 Songs of the Skokie 

A gripping of error 

In a world all gone wrong, nor my spirit held blame- 
less.) 

What are these barricades 
At which my purpose fades? 

Spider-spun filaments stretch where I'm trending, 

Paths once unending 

End sharp for me. 

Gossamer threads have turned tentacles strangling. 

My nerves go jangling 

At some unthinkable vision of mystery. 

Some cup undrinkable, brimmed like a history 

With all bitter dregs of mankind's past quaffings 

Is held with grim laughings 

Up to my lips. 

Then I turn back again 

Knowing I lack again 

Strength to face gallantwise 

All my high enterprise 

Now in eclipse. 

Barriers, barriers everywhere. 

In common ways, in the breath of air. 

Uncertainty besets. I am controlled 

By that which bids me ever unconsoled. 

Uncomforted, go seeking 

For some mute thing — unspeaking — 

Inconclusive, at the first touch illusive — 



Dim Havens 123 

Aware and yet unheeding, 

Alert, ever receding 

Beyond my outstretched hand, — 

Until bereft of hoping 

With futile fingers groping 

At the last step I stand 

To meet once more the eternal barricades 

At whose Impact the mortal purpose fades. 



FRAMEWORK 

Across the west one crimson streak glows bright 
Below the grey-hung falling curtain of the night. 

Against that fading beauty, In its girdered might 
Stands forth a phantom dome, 
Iron-ribbed, majestic, mystic In the sunset. 
Some day in carven stone and painted glass, 
Rich woods and silken trappings 
And all the panoply of ritualled faith, 
A great cathedral it will stand complete. 
But now? 

Oh now it rises, starkly beautiful; 
Foundation, walls, and swelling bubble-dome, 
The understructure, promise of to-come. 
Gaunt, roofless, but how strong! 

Faith of my fathers ! So I think of thee ! 
Iron-ribbed, and mighty In thy majesty. 



124 Songs of the Skokie 

I see thee standing, staunch and undismayed 
Amid the turmoil of a travailing world. 
Against the background, roseate, vanishing. 
Of sweet beliefs, and superstitions quaint 
That fade into the twilit afterglow. 
Although we deck thy form with gilt and gauds 
And foolish trappings that disguise thy state. 
Beneath our trivialities you loom 
Tremendous and eternal. 
So great we scarcely see you, for our eyes 
Are caught with images, lights, hosts of things 
Of little value to the mind or soul. 

Serene and changeless, in thy noble might 

Our fathers' faith, loom larger through the night ! 



THE WAY 

Man's roadways span our planet's girth. 
He charts the sea from pole to pole, 

But there's no sextant upon earth 
For orientation of the soul. 

Purposeless, derelict for years. 

Like seaweed broken from its stem 

We drift, unless the spirit steers 

By the Star that shone o'er Bethlehem. 



AUTUMNAL INTERMEZZI 



AUTUMNAL INTERMEZZI 

Three sonnets 



The hours fall slowly, like the dying leaves 
November oaks loose hesitatingly 
As though each brown shred held a memory 
Of new-born magic that the springtime weaves. 
And I ? Out of the past my thought retrieves 
Those ancient symbols, beauty's legacy 
Left to her dreamers, men like you and me. 
Whom progress tears and alteration grieves. 
Why, when the old gods were so free to bless 
Those habitations of the spirit, hid 
Today in dust of doubt and wretchedness, 
Do we desert them? Still the Pyramid 
Towers o'er the desert of our common things, 
And the Sphinx ponders on her vanished kings. 



127 



128 Songs of the Skokie 



II 



The clouds drift in a tumult, and the air 
Quivers and trembles in a rushing stream. 
Everywhere motion breaking through my dream, 
The pulses of progression everywhere 
I turn my eyes, save where I scarcely dare 
To look for fear a backward glance might seem 
To prove my craven spirit still could deem 
The past transcendent, and the future bare. 
And what if bare? I shake old hamper off ! 
My emptiness? — It leaves me only free 
To hold the finer vision. Do you scoff 
That I yet hope the vision may come to me? 
Nay, my serenity shall not abate. 
Failing the vision, still the hope is great ! 



Autumnal Intermezzi 129 



III 



I front the great horizon, free in act 

To face the sun, — now that bewildering grace 

Of bloom and leaf and fruit, that screened his face 

In shimmering beauty, can no more distract 

My thought from him, the great illuming fact 

Ranging beyond this quickening pushing race 

Of Earth-types, struggling for some vantage-place 

Whence best his strange compulsions to refract. 

And though it is his setting rays I see, 

Who, but for earth-charmed eyes had earlier caught 

His glory while it beamed from zenith height, — 

Yet have I faith, although he fades from sight. 

That all on earth I cherished, yearned for, sought, 

In flame-clear lucency shall dawn for me. 



TO MY LITTLE FRIENDSHIPS 

AMONG CHILDREN, 

DOGS AND BIRDS 



TO MY LITTLE FRIENDSHIPS AMONG 
CHILDREN, DOGS AND BIRDS 

TO GLORIA 

Some day, when you are old, and wondering 
Just how you looked in childhood's lovely spring, 
Then read these words of your first blossoming. 
Upon a day when jfirst I saw you stand 
With one blue stalk of hyacinth in your hand 
And the same color deepened and repeated 
Within your wondering eyes 
Where childhood's vague surprise 
At life unsolvable lay still deep-seated. 

Your face was like the wood anemone 
Whose paleness is not pale, because the Spring 
Kisses its cheek while It is flowering 
Into a downy-flushing witchery. 

Your hair had all the lustre that comes glinting 
In fairy pennies, new-sprung from the minting. 
But it had twined itself in loving hands 
Until it hung in rings 
Of golden treasure, such as ancient kings 
Fought for in far-off lands. 

How can I tell you what your lips were like? 
Oh childish mouth, with inexperience 
A still unbudded flower upon your lips! 
Tears fill my eyes to think how Time's eclipse 

133 



134 Songs of the Skokie 

Must dim your radiance 

And grief and disappointment sometime strike 

Away that look of joyous Innocence. 

Ah little girl! Why cannot childhood stay? 

Would that the years could keep you as today ! 

Yet will I pray that as these beauties fade 

From that sweet body God and love have made 

They shall come shining and reflowering through 

Future far years, In that sweet soul of you ! 



HER PATTERAN 

("Patteran Is a Gypsy word for the trail of leaves 
and grasses which the Gypsies leave along the road to 
show which way they have passed.) 

A Bible entry: "Born. A girl." 
A knitted shoe, a golden curl, 
A woolly lamb, gay-colored blocks. 
Some wee worn garments In a box. 

Some dog-eared books, a pair of skates, 
Old photographs of all her mates, 
Boarding-school letters full of jokes 
And "love to all the dear home-folks." 

A glove, a programme from a dance, 
A rose pressed in an old romance, 
A rain of rice across the hall. 
Tears on my cheeks, — and that Is all. 



To My Little Friendships 135 

TO MY LITTLE GODDAUGHTER 

Dear child, I looked at you tonight, 
A black-haired, slender slip in white, 
And thought how, years ago I too, 
Was a girl graduate like you. 
Just setting out upon new ways 
From the familiar school-house days. 

« I laughed and talked, to hide a tear, 

It won't be always fun, my dear. 
For life holds problems, harder far, 
To solve than Mathematics are. 
And more insistent tasks, it seems. 
Then reading stars, or writing themes. 

Yet as my retrospective gaze 

Looks down the pathway of old days, 

I realize that with the tasks 

Comes strength to bear. If one but asks. 

So let no future fears affright. 

Be just a happy child tonight. 



VAIN IMAGININGS 

I'd like to sit out in the rain, and play at being poor. 
Like children without any homes, It's pleasant I am sure. 
But when I try my mother just drags me in the door 
And makes me put my tongue out, and takes my 
temperature. 



136 Songs of the Skokie 

LAISSEZ VIVRE 

I wouldn't tread on angle-worms out on the pavement 

wet, 
I cannot bear the poor dead mice when the kitchen trap 

is set. 
I love each living creature, I'm sorry when it dies; 
Yet I'm pleased when Mother gives me a cent for killing 

flies. 

BATHROOM RULES 

The child who would his mother please 
Will learn these simple rules with ease. 

Don't let the soap swim like a fish 
But keep it neatly in its dish. 

Don't leave wet towels on the floor 
But spread them neat when bath is o'er. 

When you have finished with the tub 
Give it a rinsing and a rub. 

When bathing o'er, to bed you go 
Turn out the light, or leave it low. 

Then to the one whose bath comes next 
You'll furnish no sad warning text. 



To My Little Friendships • 137 



A BOY'S STUDIES 

His teacher's heart is like to break 
In sheer discouragement and pain, 

When in geography he'll make 
Mistakes again, and yet again. 

(He's sailing in a ship with Drake 
Across the foaming Spanish Main!) 

Although he "stays in" afternoons 

Trying to do what he is bid, 
He fails to grasp those useful boons 

Which in arithmetic lie hid. 
(He's busy counting gold doubloons 

Beside the pirate, Captain Kidd!) 

In history his slow wits lag, 

Although his keener mates deride. 

His dates are wrong, his answers drag, 
It does not help a bit to chide. 

(He's fighting 'neath the White-cross flag 
At Richard Lion-heart, his side!) 



138 Songs of the Skokie 



SPRING COMES TO MONTREAL 

At home the red-breast's happy note 
Carols of promised flowers, 
The blue-bird soon will swell his throat 
Singing 'mid April's showers. 

But here the wintry frosts abide, 
The sleigh-bells jingle gay 
The great drifts cloak the mountain side 
Will it be ever May? 

The river wind blows bleak and chill 
Down from some frozen sea, 
There's ne'er a hint of daffodil 
To cheer this heart of me. 

But wait, what's that? A note I hear 
Of voices gay and free. 
Children are playing somewhere near 
And shouting merrily. 

"Fen ! It's my turn !" Oh, welcome noise, 
My heart swells in a trice ! 
It is the spring, for little boys 
Play marbles on the ice! 



To My Little Friendships 139 

NOW YOU ARE GROWN 
(To R. W. P.) 

Now you are grown, my little lad, 

Your mother's hands are empty quite. 
Too long the days ! Too short the night 

That brings her dreams of what she's had! 

She knows it's foolish to be sad. 
You can't stay always in her sight 
Now you are grown. 

And truly, boy, her heart is glad 

That you have grown to manhood's height 
With honor clean, and record white. 

Please God you always shun the bad, 
Now you are grown ! 

THE STAR 

(Nursery rhyme for twentieth century children) 

I 

Twinkle, twinkle, little star. 

Down eddying depths of ether hurled 
Into a wonder smitten world 
It flingeth sharp staccato gleams, 
(Like unrelenting dreams) 



I40 Songs of the Skokie 

Till it plerceth straight and stark, 

Pitiless through the dark, 

The spirit's inertia to its core, 

And leaveth it prey to wonder evermore. 



II 

How I wonder what you are. 

That spirit, ever questing, yearneth. 

Of the star's substance somewhat learneth, — 

With glass and measuring rod and probe 

It wresteth knowledge from this globe. 

And with strange beating engines flieth, 

To pierce aerial secrets, trieth — 

With computations variform 

Chemics, reductions to the norm, 

Strange prestidigitatings mathematical 

And mouthings of the physic laws emphatical — 

To prophecy the cosmic storm. 

Computeth birth of suns, death of the spheres. 

The comet's course bright errant through the years, 

Doth minify to some dull rule of three 

The vague coherence of the nebulae, 

And yet despite this knowledge, reacheth to that wall 

Beyond whose pale men are as children all. 

And crieth, balked at last : "Could I but understand 

Who madeth star, and holdeth in His hand." 



To My Little Friendships 141 

THE LESSER MARTYRS 

I had a dream : there stretched a heavenly plain 

Where all the mighty hosts of the "Te Deum" 

Went marching past me, chanting to the Lord. 

They trooped, that band of all the martyred men 

Who died for God and Faith, a goodly throng ! 

Then followed after them another band 

Of those who died to save their fellow-men. 

My heart beat high with reverence at the sight. 

"Oh Holy Ones," I cried, "Bless even me 

Unworthy kneeling in the dusty road." 

Even as I cried there leapt from out the throng 

A shaggy dog who fawned and licked my hand. 

Then did I see how, near these marching saints 

There ran, and leapt, and crept a myriad beasts. 

Dogs of all kinds, mice, white and grey and pied. 

Monkeys and guinea-pigs, and cats and rats, 

Frisking along, all enmities forgot, 

Beside the pathway of these reverend saints! 

At first I smiled. It seemed a thing grotesque 

That these quaint beasts should join this holy throng, 

Running and leaping in the air for joy! 

Then I did cease my smiling, for I heard 

How, as with cries and barks they joined the song 

The saints were singing, all their squealing notes 

And chattering undertones blent in a whole 

Harmonious chant of praise. They sang their part ! 

Then saw I good St. Francis standing near 
Conversing with his little friends the birds 
Who chattered joyous as they fluttered low 
Alighting on his shoulders and his hands. 



142 Songs of the Skokie 

He seemed less stern than any other saint 
And so I asked him: "Good Saint Francis, tell 
Who are these many little beasts I see, 
Dogs, monkeys, guinea-pigs, and rats and mice, 
Marching so merrily with the grave saints?" 

Then he made answer: "These have rightful place. 

They are the lesser martyrs, nameless ones, 

Who have fulfilled Our Saviour's words Who said 

'A greater love hath no man proved than this 

That for his friend his life should be laid down.' 

These humble creatures, each and all of them. 

Have at His bidding laid their little lives 

Upon the altar-stone for Man, their friend. 

In pain unspoken, agonies unguessed 

They died, a thousand deaths that men might live. 

Vain were beseeching looks and broken cries. 

Men had decreed their torture, so they bled. 

The dogs have been man's friends since time began, 

Have followed, trusted, helped and guarded him. 

Accompanied his hunts, protected homes. 

And barked with welcoming joy at his approach. 

Then of the dog was asked the final gift. 

To suffer, suffer in a living death 

Weeks, months maybe or years if in the end 

Some cure were learned to save the children's lives. 

These cats and monkeys too have felt the knife, 
And known fierce tremors, and deep gnawing pain, 
In order that the children should be spared 
Like pains and tremors and the grip of death. 
Now 'tis decreed that in the martyr band 
These little humble servants too shall walk, 



To My Little Friendships 143 

Because they suffered greatly for great things ! 
They leap and gambol, sport along the way, 
Feeding on food celestial, drinking deep 
From waters sweet of everlasting youth: 
Forever young and strong and vigorous, 
Forever to our Lord raising their cries 
Which, though men call them unmelodious, 
Are sweet to Him who gave these notes to them. 
Evermore therefore cry they praise to God 
Swelling this anthem through Eternity: 
"We, all the myriad band of martyr beasts 
Who gave our lives for others, cry aloud 
In praise unending, joy without surcease, 
'We too adore Thee. Holy, Holy, Lord.' " 

"SENTIMENTAL TOMMY" 

Shall fourteen friendly years go unrecorded? 

Years of obedience, when you faithful guarded 

Our house and garden, kept these purlieus ratless. 

And did your little best to make them catless. 

Never a growl or snarl, even when I hurt you, 

Never a roving night. All doggy virtue 

Marked your life's doings. Can my mind unheeding 

Forget your hinting paw-taps, or the pleading 

Of your bright eyes for sugar, walks, or petting, 

(Your little special joys). Am I forgetting 

The patient hours and days when you watched quiet 

Beside my bed, ignoring honey diet 

And proffered rat-hunts, lest perchance your Missis 

Might stretch a hand and lack your moist, kind kisses? 

Nay, little vanished friend, I can't forget you. 

And Heaven, for me, must have a place to pet you. 



144 Songs of the Skokie 

PRAYER TO ST. FRANCIS 

St. Francis, take the spirit of this bird 
Into your shelter; keep it safe and warm 
And whistle to it softly. Speak a word 
Of kindness ; let it perch upon your arm. 

For know, kind saint, this little vanished joy 
Was wont to flutter welcoming each day 
To greet me, a gay feathered flower, half-coy — 
Half-bold, and now that joy has flown away. 

The crimson beak, the rainbow wings are still. 
Silent the tiny heart that beat so strong. 
Beside the fountain, 'neath the daffodil 
Sleeps the wee husk that held that ardent song. 

So kind St. Francis, smile not at my woe. 

God lets no sparrow unrecorded go. i 

BABY PARADE 

If you wake feeling grouchy some cold winter morn, 
Out of key with the world, and not glad that you're 

born. 
Just don't go to business, at least before noon. 
Let me show you instead what will put you in tune. 
'Tis a gay little pageant that's daily displayed 
A-marching on Sherbrooke, the Baby Parade. 



To My Little Friendships 145 

There are nannas from England so rosy and sleek, 
There are neat bonnes from Paris, quite dashing and 

chic. 
There are nurseys from Scotland, and Erin the green, 
All be-cloaked, and be-capped, and all good to be seen, 
Each keeping her troop in surveillance complete 
During Baby Parade, upon Sherbrooke Street. 

In vain may the cabman wink, ogle and stare. 
And mounted policemen be gay, debonnair, — 
The nurses on duty give never a glance. 
Their wee charges lead them too merry a dance. 
There's no time for sweethearting, I am afraid. 
These mornings, on Sherbrooke, at Baby Parade. 

There are sledges, and go-carts and neat-varnished 

prams. 
Each holding its quota of babies, the lambs. 
While marching beside come the next older scions 
Trudging sturdy and valiant, and bold as young lions, 
Quite dauntless to cope with all dangers they meet 
During Baby Parade, upon Sherbrooke Street. 

There are kiddies with blue eyes and eyes like the sloe. 

With brown curls and chestnut, gold, flaxen and tow. 

And saucily perched on each dear little head 

Is a warm woolly tuque, of blue or of red. 

To match the wee mittens and leggings displayed 

By these jaunty young marchers in Baby Parade. 

Riding safely in state with their owners you'll see 
Woolly lambs, Teddy Bears, and dolls of degree, 



146 Songs of the Skokie 

While Caesar and Tou Tou go marching beside 
Tails wagging devotion, throats bursting with pride, 
As they bark their defiance at strange dogs they meet 
Who would join these paraders on Sherbrooke Street. 

The air's all a-babble with laughter and fun. 
The skies may be grey, but you'll think there's a sun. 
The street seems agleam when these small girls and boys 
Come marching your way with their laughter and noise. 
They can banish the darkest cloud ever was made, 
And sad hearts grow light during Baby Parade. 



"HAPPY-GO-LUCKY" 

I smile, albeit with tears, to see him there. 

My little dog, with faithful eyes upraised, 

Hopeful of petting, yearning to be praised, 

Or feel my touch upon his glossy hair. 

He listens every word with anxious care. 

His look with striving love grows fairly dazed. 

And when he hears his name he goes half-crazed 

With joy, and quivering bounds into the air. 

How like, how very like to man is he. 

Man too goes questing, spirit ever stirred. 

The rifting cloud, the sunlight on a tree, 

A baby's smile, could solve his mystery — 

But man has not your faith, my dog. You heard 

And knew your master, Man still waits the word ! 



EXERCISES IN VARIED MEASURES 
Dialect, Translations, and Conscious Imitations 



EXERCISES IN VARIED MEASURES 

CARE— THE GNOME 

(Double Triolet) 

While Care, the gnome, is sitting 

At ease within my room, 
All pleasant thoughts go flitting 
While Care, the gnome is sitting, 
Penance and tears seem fitting, 

And shaded lamps and gloom. 
While Care the gnome is sitting 

At ease within my room ! 

When Joy, the elf, comes scampering 

Up my dull attic stair 
All duties seem but hampering. 
When Joy, the elf, comes scampering, 
Penance and morbid pampering 

Fade into sunny air. 
When Joy the elf comes scampering 

Up my dull attic stair ! 

WHEN PRIMROSE SMILES 

(Rondel) 

When primrose smiles from banks of green 
With heart of glowing sun-caught sheen. 
When the first blue-birds sing, and far 
And near the sweet wood-violets are, — 
I look at you amazed, Bettine ! 

149 



150 Sottas of the Skokie 

What — what I wonder, — can you mean, 
In petulant, though pretty, spleen, 
Your forehead with such frowns to mar ! 
When Primrose Smiles ! 

Do you not know, my heart's true queen, 
That when your charms you thus bemean, 
'Tis like black clouds that come to bar 
The radiance of the evening star? 
Look up — and kiss me ! Love's serene 
When Primrose Smiles ! 



SPRING IN THE GARDEN 

(Rhyme Royal) 

The springtime spearsmen leap from out the ground 

Flaunting their crocus banners, purple, gold. 

A gorgeous cardinal cleaves the air with sound, 

Herald of sun, who conquers winter's cold. 

Oh, miracle that never can grow old ! 

You change dead frosty grey to budding green, 

And sweep my spirit's corners golden clean. 

The waxen cups of bloodroots pierce the leaves. 

Snowdrops are almost done. The scilla's blue 

Reflects the bluebird's feathers and bereaves 

The wintry sky of its ethereal hue. 

A robin with his new made nest In view. 

Sings his old song, inestimably dear. 

Of "Sursum corda ! Lo, the spring is here !" 



Exercises in Varied Measures 15 ^ 

FOUR MERRY MEN 
(Ballad) 

Four merry men came riding forth, 

From East, and West, and South and North. 

None would tell his lady's name 

But lo ! Their lady, she was the same ! 

They strove for her gifts, together, apart; 
Her eyes, her hands, her lips, and her heart. 

To the man from the North she gave her glance, 
To the man from the West her hand in a dance. 

The man from the East a kiss did reap, 

And the man from the South, her soul to keep. 

The North, for a glance (they tell to me) , 
' Gave her his soul for eternity. 

West for her hand gave a knightly kiss. 
East, for her lips, but a glance amiss. 

The man from the South took her soul (they say) 
Handled it lightly and flung it away! 

A moral there is which we all can touch; 
Love gives much for little, and little for much ! 



152 Songs of the Skokie 

THE JAPANESE GOLDFISH SAUCES THE 
STATUARY * 

I see you there outside, so tall and white. 

A grey old man bends down to read your name ; 

"Spear-bearer, probably of Dorian fame. 

In ash-swept old Pompeii brought to light." 

I flitter and I flare, — in, out, of sight. 

Behind the emerald sea-fern, wild and tame 

By turns, a living gem of opal flame, 

With two great streaming silver tails bedight. 

Pooh for you, Dorian! I'm alive! I go 

Darting through splendid bubbly depths of green 

While thousand laughing children pass, aglow 

With loving rapture of my shimmering sheen ! 

I frisk my prettiest for them in the sun ! 

None of them marks you, Dorian ! No, not one ! 

*At this time the aquarium was temporarily housed in the hall of 
statues in the Chicago Art Institute. 

I DREAM OF SOFT VERSES 

(Song suggested by some lines of Albert Samain's "Je 

reve des vers doux mourant comme des roses.") 

There are hearts that are patient to build day by day 
From the dust of despair and the tears of their woes 

Figurines of delight of that pitiful clay, — 
I dream of soft verses that die like the rose. 

There are souls who are sturdy at launching their 
dreams 

Like great galleons of oak-timber, challenging foes 
To the waves of oblivion and fates lightning gleams, — 

I dream of soft verses that die like the rose. 



Exercises in Varied Measures 153 

There are spirits that toil for a fame that shall stand 
Like the great granite sphinx in eternal repose 

While the temporal whirls round her head, as the 
sand, — 
I dream of soft verses that die like the rose. 

For clay it shall crumble and timber decay 

And the granite grow featureless through the sand's 
doom, 
But new roses grow from the old every day, — 

Perhaps from my dead songs new red songs may 
bloom. 



HILL-VOICES 
I 

Up high on the hill 

It is quiet and holy. 
The High Gods brood still 

O'er the lives of the lowly. 

If ye list ye will learn 

All of life, all of death. 
From the brown-rippling burn 

From the pines' whispering breath. 

But the High Gods speak low. 
And the world's voice is loud; 

Few the message can know 
In the clash of the crowd. 



154 Songs of the Skokie 

II 

Up higher and higher 

The hill-paths ascend 
Through heather and briar 

With skies at their end. 

Toil, Man, to the summit. 

Climb the high rock alone, 
Gaze fearlessly from it — 

A king on his throne ! 

The cloud is thy beaker 

Think not of the sod. 
Quaff deeply, oh Seeker, 

The vintage of God! 

Ill 

Not long taste the rapture 

Of Heaven's clear flask. 
Let the lowlands recapture 

Thy soul to its task. 

A murmur comes stealing 

Through the pines in the glen 
Like a sad anthem pealing. 

The voices of men! 

With spirit grown bolder 

Descend to the plain, 
And lift to thy shoulder 

Life's burden again. 



Exercises in Varied Measures 155 

SEA-LONGING 

Flower o' the lowland where honey-bees cluster, 

Flower o' the highland which scents the cool breeze, 
Flower o' the meadow with sunshiny lustre, 
Flower o' the deep woods in shade o' the trees. 

Sweet, ye are sweet. 

When my senses ye greet 
Breathing the peace of my calm inland home. 

Yet my hearts frets 

For it never forgets 
Tang o' the sea-weed and scent o' the foam ! 

Wind o' the field, with scent o' the clover, 

Wind o' the forest with cool breath o' fern. 
Wind o' the hills where the dark pines climb over. 
Wind o' the low lake where hides the blue hern. 

Sweet, ye are sweet 

When my senses ye greet 
Bringing me balm in the breath of your wings. 

Yet my heart frets 

For it never forgets 
Salt wind of ocean that's biting, and stings. 

GATHERING MALCOWS * 

Past detaining lily-pads, past the ripening rushes. 
Push your little boat my lads where the orchis blushes. 
Where the stems of cardinal flare like red rods of 

warning. 
Where the arum, silver-fair, opens to the morning. 

* On the Desplaines River, in the early nineties. 



156 Songs of the Skokie 

Just beyond the cat-tail's bound, there among the 

sallows, 
There's the spot where they are found, tall and won- 
drous mallows. 
Rooted deep in river slime, secret, hidden long. 
Give them light and air and time, then they bloom to 

song. 
Leaves of maple, copper stems, buds of emerald lustre, 
Like a branch of rose-lit gems how the blossoms cluster. 
See the silken petals lift, pink as baby's fingers. 
Crimson heart where still a drift of silver pollen lingers. 
Lads let's leave them at their best, in their stately 

growing 
Where the marsh-wren builds her nest, by the river 

flowing. 
Let no wanton fingers harsh those sweet branches sever, 
Then shall mallows of the marsh grow in memory ever. 



BALLADE OF YOUTH AND LOVE 

(With apologies to Henley) 

Every maid has her golden day. 

Once in her life each girl's a rose. 
Lads in their teens are easy prey 

When the young blood bounding goes. 

Joan's black eyes will win the beaux, 
Peggy can net them with her hair, 

Phyllis will win with a graceful pose — 
Love is a fowler, youth's a snare. 



Exercises in Varied Measures 157 

Nell is a maid who's always gay, 

Poll's plump arm a dimple shows, 
Chloe's clever, so they say. 

Freckled Jill wears silken hose ! 

Evelyn twirls on graceful toes, 
Phoebe's cooking is something rare, 

Prue's so sweet, and how well she sews, 
Love is a fowler, youth's a snare. 

Grace with her gold all debts can pay, 

Susan's song lulls to a doze, 
Cora's courage abounding aye 

Will help a fellow to best his foes. 

Lucy's lovely, goodness knows, 
Jane's coquettish, have a care; 

Flats loom large, and bungalows. 
Love is a fowler, youth's a snare. 

Lads unless you run away 

You'll be taken unaware. 
Made to cherish and obey — 

Love is a fowler, youth's a snare. 



158 Songs of the Skokie 

UPON BEING ASKED THE NAME OF MY 
FAVORITE POETESS 

If I give answer true, pray do not frown, 

I hail the poetess of infancy, 

A singing Shakespeare of her sex was she 
A humble Homer in a homespun gown. 
Dwelling long years ago in Boston Town 

She garnered lore of great simplicity, 

Nonsense, so-called, yet more than that to me 
Since wise she seems to childhood, prince or clown. 

From Sappho's day to that of Amy L 

I find her matchless, cannot praise the half 

Her gifts, nor dare my fountain black unloose 

Rightly to pen her worth whom I love well ! 

I'll name her quickly — prithee friend don't laugh, — 

That fine free faultless Phoenix, Mother Goose ! 



THE ELM-TREE SHADES 

(Rondel) 

The elm-tree shades in Phillips Square 

Have sheltered more than passers know, 
Who linger in the paths below 

To rest from noon-tide's sweltering glare. 

Close hidden from the casual stare 

An empty nest is swinging where 
The elm-tree shades. 



Exercises in Varied Measures 159 

Safe winging through the upper air, 
Southward the happy orioles go, 
Parents and young, aflame, aglow 

Leaving behind, without a care 
The elm-tree shades. 

(The king would love it well, I trow. 
That tall straight trunk with branches fair — 
, The elm-tree shades!) 

(The City Fathers of Montreal cut down several noble trees in the 
heart of the city, in order to give passers-by an unobstructed view of the 
statue of King Edward!) 



WHAT OF THE MOON? 

Sunlight you speak of, dear. Sunlight and laughter, 
Ripple of waters and splendor of noon. 
What of calm evenings, and night-shadows after? 
What of the moon, love? What of the moon? 

Have you forgotten the nights when we wandered 
Silent and wistful? Forgotten so soon? 
Was it for nothing our Maytime we squandered? 
What of the moon, love? What of the moon? 

Tell me no more of the gold-garish sunlight. 
Give our love's memory only this boon — 
Tell of your hours in the white light, the one light- 
What of the moon, love? What of the moon? 



i6o Songs of the Skokie 

THE FIRST VISIT 

"And what would be that green shore?" I was askin', 

I was cryin' 
"That's stretchin' out to eastwards, sloping backwards 

from the sea, 
"With its brown rocks reachin' outwards where the 

breakers are a-sighin' 
"With the low clouds hangin' over where the curlews 

are replyin' 
"To a question I have dreamed of in a far country," 

Then 'twas one made laughin' answer, tho' the tears 

stood in his lashes, 
" 'Tis a country you should know, girl, or I doubt those 

black-fringed eyes. 
"Some serve her with loud shoutin', with paradin', 

drums, and sashes, 
"And some serve her lyin' quiet, with their bodies cut 

in gashes, 
"And some there be can only sing her ancient melodies." 

Then I answered him and told him what my own heart 

was repeatin' : 
" 'Tis a small red drop that tells me, from my mother's 

mother's Mother, 
"That the green land I am watchin' just beyond the 

waves a-beatin' 
"Is the place I've dreamed of all my years, and longed 

to give it greetin' — 
"No strange land, but the home land. Mother Erin 

and no other." 



Exercises in Varied AI ensures i6i 

THE HONEYMOON 

(A Habitant Confides in a Passenger on the 
St. Lawrence River Boat) 

I wass leevin' by Quebec, out near w'ere de bridge wass 

wreck, 
(My frann Jeremi Batees wass los dat day.) 
I wass makin' plaintee cash, drivln' Yankee in calash. 
So I go to Seraphine Lebolt, and say: 

'T haf love you Seraphine, sence de day you wass four- 
teen, 
Wen you mek de first communion, dress in w'ite. 
I haf got a good biznesse, an' I treat you fine, I guess. 
Ask de cure if you don' believe me quite." 

She wass castin' down de eye, an' wass actin' dreadful 

shy. 
So I catch 'er round de neck and kiss 'er twice, 
Till she cry, "Prends garde, mon cher. 
Dere iss someone look, tek care. 
Bes' go a leetle slow. Tek my advice." 

Now de sun iss shinin' low. An' de boat she move so 

slow 
Till she mek de landin' at Riviere de Loup. 
We 'ave start out for a treep wot we mek on de beeg 

sheep 
For de Priest he marry us de septieme Aout. 



1 62 Songs of the Skokie 

You wass lookln' at my wife? She Iss wort it, bet your 

life 
Aint a lady in Quebec dat 'as her beat. 
Wid her eyes as black as coal, an' my trotter mare's 

bes' foal 
Ain' got 'air wot look more glossy or more neat. 

She iss wear a marabout round her pretty neck, partout. 

An' 'er robe is very chic it sim' to me. 

Madame Clementine Louette, she haf mek dat robe you 

bet 
So you t'ink it comin' over from Paris, 

Now dey pull de ropes about, and de Cap'n 'ear 'im 

shout, 
"Slack en ava' " so we must go, me an' my bride. 
'Era's my card. You come my way an' I drive you 

round all day 
An' charge you — nex' to nuttin' for de ride. 



COVENT GARDEN MARKET 

Wot ho, Bill ! Did I 'ear yer s'y 
Yer marigolds are spindlin' 
And yer daylyers got the pip? 
Blime, To me they looks quite g'y, 
Aint noticed sales a-dwindlin' 
'Ave yer. Bill, on this yer trip? 



Exercises in Faried Measures 163 

Law lumme, Bill, Yer 'ave the luck. 
Yer stall's cleaned out In 'arf an hour 
Wile us poor coves is busy still 
Tyin' bookays an' fixin' stock. 
You'm sold out to the smarlest flower 
An' gun to count yer cash in till. 

'Ow do yer do it, Bill, ole son? 
For 'Enry there 'as better bloom, 
An' Jock gives more per penny. 
You throws yer grin in, jes' fer fun 
With every sale, so there aint room 
For folks to notice any 

Faults in yer flowers, or bunches thin. 
Garn Bill ! We knows yer w'ys 
Don't talk to us o' "lucky d'ys" 
Wot you sells. Bill, is thet broad grin ! 



164 Songs of the Skokie 

FIGURE DANS UN REVE 

Remy de Gourmont 

(The curious repetition of the "air" rhyme and asso- 
nance in the original has had to be replaced by "eer" to 
give any equivalence in English.) 

The most dear, with eyes clear, doth appear 'neath the 
moon 

Whose ephemeral beams are the bearers of dreams. 

Down a light pale-azured, by the mists half-obscured 

She, ethereal, gleams! 

Stars flower on her brow, her light hair floats in air 

Brightly, where she treads there. 

In her dark eyes still wells the chimera dwells. 

Her neck bare and frail a pearl rosary bars, 

Its rows flaring pale reflect smiles of the stars, 

While her arms wear as charms, each its twinned brace- 
let. 

And a bright coronet on her fair head is set. 

Whose mystic gems seven transpierce like the leven 

My heart with their gleams — 

'Neath the ephemeral moon, mother-bearer of dreams. 



■xoxises in Paried Measures 165 

RECIPE FOR A PLAY 

(Translated from Rostand's "Les Romanesques") 

(Rondel) 

Some costumes bright, some rhymes most light, 

Love in a park, the flute a-playing 

Some comic creatures foolish quite, 

Some passing squabbles soon set right. 

Sun-beams by day, moon-beams by night. 

Dark robes a villain bold arraying. 

Some costumes bright, some rhymes most light, 

Love in a park the flute a-playing, 

Some music, and a Watteau maying. 

An "honest play" you'll soon be saying. 

An antique garden flower bedight. 

Some costumes bright, some rhymes most light. 



SONG 

(From Wedekind's "So ist das Leben") 

My brow is crowned with ivy 

The dew gleams in my hair 
O'er head a pair of falcons 

Cry through the clear blue air. 
My mother from the balcony 

Calls with her voice so clear: 
"Tonight thy father will come home 

"In glittering battle-gear." 



1 66 Songs of the Skokie 

THE CLOWN SINGS 
(From "So is das Leben") 

Fortune's always busy planning 
Freaks no human brain would dare. 

When her moods I am a-scanning, 

Tears and smiles have both their share. 

Heaven itself seems insecurely 

Set upon its own two feet. 
Then may man with reason, surely, 

Turn his somersault complete. 

If your legs are easy-bending, 

If your arms can lithely spread 
Bad luck has a joyous ending, 

Good luck follows, heels o'er head! 

TRANSLATIONS OF THREE SONGS 
BY JACQUES DALCROZE 

I 

The little bird has left his nest and flown through all 

the world, 
The little bird has left his branch, and mourns the nest 

forlorn 
He weeps. He mourns his silvery Alp and his green 

pine. 

The little bird has hastened on, and touched at every 
land, 



Exercises in Varied Measures 1 67 

The bird has hastened through the world, but mourns 

his nest forlorn. 
He weeps. He mourns his silvery Alp and his green 

pine. 



II 

Oh little house, so olden, so olden. 

Thou who sleepest so olden in the grasses. 

House of another time, witness of other days, 

Enfolding secret hidden memories 

Of ancient seasons and of hours long past. 

Ah, dear old house, my refuge and my nest, 

The past inhabits thee, oh ancient house. 

Ah little hidden nest with shutters drawn. 

Much have you seen, what secrets dear you know. 

Love with sonorous voice sang 'neath your roof. 

Death has passed through thee yet thou livest still, 

Holding the perfume of a bloom long spent. 

Ah dear old house, my refuge and my nest. 

The past inhabits thee, oh ancient house. 



Ill 



The daughters of Estavayer, 

(Oh leafy tower, fair tower o' vine) 
The daughters of Estavayer 
Don't think themselves too fine. 



1 68 Songs of the Skokie 

But when to town they wend their way 
(Oh leafy tower, fair tower o' vine) 
But when to town they wend their way 
Neat pinafores wear they. 

The daughters of Estavayer, 

(Oh leafy tower, fair tower o' vine) 

The daughters of Estavayer, 

To gossip do decline. 

But when they start to talk (men say) 
(Oh leafy tower, fair tower o' vine) 

But when they start to talk (men say) 

They never stop all day ! 

TO AN OLD POET 

Once with lyre twanged dismally 
You moaned of love to Lalage, 
Of roses, youth, and Cupid's wing 
You sang with pensive breath — 
But now you laugh abysmally. 
Chanting some quaint analogy 
Deriding age, the while you sing 
A virelai to Death ! 

SONG AT PARTING 

Pluck It and take this little rose delay not. 

Flowers bud and bloom, and then untimely wither. 
Night falls too soon, the happy moments stay not, 

Vanishing whither? 



Exercises in Varied Measures 169 

What if our love so flower-like and so fragrant 

Fade like the rose that droops beneath our fingers? 

What seems secure, turn fugitive and vagrant — 
(No sweet thing lingers!) 

Banish such thoughts ! A melody so minor 

Must not be hymned before Love's joyous altar. 

Give me your hand, your faith is freer, finer. 
Let mine not falter! 



THE SOUL 

(From the French sonnet of Jules Lacroix) 

When all of earth sinks into sleep supreme, 

Save ocean, where unresting billows rage. 

Then doth night's mystery man's thought engage, 

As from Heaven's vast abysmal depths ot dream 

The first bright radiance of the starry stream 

Illumes that incommensurable black page. 

Man watches, awestruck, as the pilgrimage 

Of every star in Ocean's breast doth gleam. 

Man, who by day seems pivot of the earth. 

Is but an atom, save as he has part 

With God, whose great horizon shines afar, 

Yet is man's tiny soul of something worth — 

Not ocean only, but the dewdrop's heart 

May hold reflection of the evening star. 



